


A Song Of Sorrows

by KJFern



Category: Dragon Age 2
Genre: Drama, F/M, Fanfiction, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-10
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-24 11:24:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 106,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJFern/pseuds/KJFern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the continuing story of Catelynn Hawke and Fenris from "The Heart of A Wolf". An unexpected change and an event are the background for this story... will it draw them closer together or will it end their relationship? Can their love survive what is about to happen to them? Rated M for language, mature themes and sexual situations/descriptions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 5/20/12: I have taken a little creative liberty in changing the timeline of events for the purpose of this story. In the actual game, there is a 3-year period between Acts 2 and 3, with Act 3 being only one year in length. In the game, it is during this last Act that Fenris and Hawke (if they are in a romance) actually get back together. In my story, Hawke and Fenris get back together sometime during the latter part of the 3 year period before Act 3.

Catelynn Hawke glared angrily at Anders as she sat across from him at the wooden table they were both seated at. They had both arrived at _The Hanged Man_ earlier that evening and had taken a seat at one of the smaller tables in the corner of the tavern near the fireplace. Hawke had thought that Anders had just invited her for a few drinks and some friendly conversation, but it turned out that he only wanted to discuss her relationship with Fenris, and how very wrong he thought it was.

  “I just don’t understand how you can be with someone who not only dislikes and distrusts magic, but mages as well,” Anders said with a frown. “Fenris actually thinks all mages should be locked away-for their entire life- in some Circle or Tower of Magi … locked away like some dangerous criminal or something!”

  Hawke knew that Anders did have a valid point, but it was an old argument that had been going on for years. She was tired of hearing it.

  “You can’t really blame him for feeling that way,” she replied in irritation. “After all, in Tevinter he was surrounded by magisters who practiced nothing but blood magic, and Danarius kept him leashed like some sort of pet.”

  “Well, if ripping and tearing out the still beating hearts from people’s chests isn’t an animalistic act, I don’t know what is,” mumbled Anders unkindly under his breath.

  Hawke shot Anders a warning look. “I _heard_ that, Anders. He is _not_ an animal!” she exclaimed irately as she leaned forward, slamming both palms of her hands down upon the top of the table for emphasis. She gave Anders another warning glare. “You’d better apologize- or so help me!”

  Anders gave a loud sigh of exasperation. He did not understand Hawke’s continual defense of the elf. She would not even entertain the possibility that the day may come when Fenris may decide that _she_ was no different from any other mage and therefore should be turned in to the templars and locked up in some Circle. Anders did not trust Fenris and he did not want to see Hawke hurt by the elf- again.

  “Hawke…. Blondie… what seems to be the trouble?” Varric asked as he sauntered up to their table and sat down in one of the empty chairs next to Anders. The affable dwarf glanced back and forth between the two angry mages and then said, “Now is this any way for two friends to act?”

  Hawke, reigning in her anger, leaned back into her chair and gave Varric a strained smile. “Hello, Varric.” Reaching out her left hand, she grabbed onto the handle of the large tankard of dark ale in front of her, lifted it to her lips and took a long sip; she suddenly felt her stomach lurch as a wave of nausea hit her. She grimaced and set the nearly full tankard of ale back down on the tabletop, pushing it away from her.

  Varric, noticing her sudden grimace and apparent distaste of the ale asked, “The ale not to your liking tonight, Hawke?” 

  Hawke shrugged her shoulders and pushed the tankard of ale towards him with a slight smile. “Here… it’s all yours, Varric.”

  Varric took the cup with a grin of delight and replied, “It would be a shame to let such a lovely dark ale go to waste.” He lifted the tankard in salute to her and then took a hearty swig from the cup before setting it back down again. “Thanks, Hawke. That certainly hit the spot,” he said with a jovial grin.

  Varric settled back into his chair, placing his right elbow upon the armrest so that he could rest his chin upon his closed fist. He turned his head to the right and gave Anders an amused look.

  “So Blondie… what have you done now to get our Hawke in such a foul mood?” he asked Anders. Varric glanced over at Hawke; her lovely face was marred by the angry scowl she wore.

  Anders turned his body slightly in his chair and looking down at the dwarf he said, “Varric- you’ll agree with me, won’t you… that Hawke is making a mistake getting involved with Fenris.” He gave the dwarf an imploring look. “After all, weren’t you the one who said three years ago that she shouldn’t be with the elf?” he asked Varric.

  Varric should have known that their argument was over the elf. Nothing would incite Hawke’s rage more than someone verbally attacking Fenris or making disparaging remarks about him. The only other thing that could enrage her more was the mistreatment or subjugation of mages, and Anders was just as much against that as she.

  “What I _said_ , Blondie,” replied Varric in an attempt to clarify his position on the matter, “Was that _maybe_ it might not be such a good idea for Hawke to get involved with a broody elf that had a lot of issues. It was just a friendly warning out of concern, and nothing more.” Varric looked over at Hawke and smiled affectionately at her. “Who she chooses to be with is her own business… she’s a big girl and she can take care of herself.”

  Hawke raised a brow and gave Anders a pointed look. “See, Anders…that is a mark of a _true_ friend,” she said coldly, her tone laced with condemnation. She then looked at Varric and gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Varric. At least I know that _you’re_ on my side.”

  Anders, wounded by her words, stared at Hawke in silence for a moment, his expression hurt and angry. “I _am_ your friend… and I am on your side,” he replied quietly. “I’m concerned for you, Hawke. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

  Hawke felt a twinge of guilt as Anders continued to look at her sadly, his brown eyes showing the hurt he felt. She knew that Anders only had her best interests at heart, but she was so tired of having to constantly defend Fenris to him- just as she was tired of defending Anders to Fenris.

  Hawke let out a long sigh and rubbed her left temple with a slender hand; her head was beginning to throb with the early stages of a headache. Anders was one of her closest friends and she loved him dearly, but she’d had enough of him and his _concern_ for one night.

  “Anders… you and I will always be friends, and I do understand that you are concerned for me…” she paused, looking at him, and gave him a strained smile before she continued speaking. “But you are wrong about Fenris, and I will thank you to keep your opinions to yourself from now on.”

  Hawke, gathering her staff, rose from her seated position and stood up with a smile aimed at Varric. “Varric, I’ll be saying good-night.”

  “Take care, Hawke. You know where to find me if you need me,” replied the dwarf with a wide smile.

  Anders had planned to stay at Hawke’s estate tonight, but he was now unsure if he would be welcomed there or not. He supposed he could always stay at his clinic in Lowtown, but the templars had been there earlier today asking him questions about some of his activities that they found suspicious. Anders feared they might return with more questions that he did not wish to give answers to.

  Hawke was about to walk away from the table when she noticed that Anders was toying with the silver chain that he always wore around his neck. The tavern’s light glinted off the metal of the familiar key that hung from the chain.

  “Anders, you are still welcome in my home… in case you are wondering.”

  Anders shot her a surprised look that quickly turned to one of gratitude. Hawke gave him a quick smile and bid him farewell. She walked away from the table, and exited the tavern.

  Anders slumped back into his chair with a heavy sigh and muttered under his breath, “Well… what bloody else can go wrong tonight?” 

  “I hate to say it Blondie, but you sort of brought that on yourself,” remarked Varric. He leaned over and placed a hand on the mage’s shoulder in commiseration. “Cheer up and look on the bright side- at least Hawke restrained herself from kicking your ass tonight,” Varric said with a grin.

  Anders had to smile at that- he was indeed fortunate that Hawke considered them friends; otherwise, he might have had to practice his healing arts on himself tonight.

  “Let me buy you a drink Anders,” Varric offered. “It looks like you could use one.”

  Anders cheered up considerably after hearing Varric’s offer to buy him a drink. Even though Justice no longer allowed him to get drunk, he did not prevent the mage from having a drink or two. Anders thanked the dwarf for his generosity and suggested that the two of them play a hand or two of cards.

  “Cards, huh?” replied Varric. “How about Diamond Back?” he asked the mage.

  “Fine with me,” answered Anders with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

  “Well, let’s go upstairs and play in my quarters,” Varric said. He grabbed his tankard of ale and proceeded to walk towards the stairs that led to the second floor where his rooms were located. He stopped and turned back to look at Anders, who was following behind. “By the way… have you gotten any better at playing?” inquired Varric with a wide grin. “Hawke’s Mabari hound plays better than you do.”

  Anders gave a snort and said, “The hound doesn’t play better than me… the dog just cheats better.”

  Varric raised a brow at Anders and then both of them began to laugh. They continued on to Varric’s living quarters, where the two friends played cards, told ribald jokes, drank, and laughed together into the wee hours of the morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke awoke to the sensation of a wet tongue upon her face as her Mabari hound, deciding that she had slept long enough, tried to rouse her with his rather sloppy dog kisses; she groaned and tried to push him away.

  “Go away, you daft dog!” Hawke exclaimed a bit irritably to the animal. She opened one eye and glared up at him as he stood over her on all fours. “Next time _you’re_ trying to sleep, I’ll be sure to wake you in the same manner.”

  The Mabari suddenly stopped licking Hawke’s face and looked at her, his head cocked to one side, as if he was trying to picture his mistress licking him awake. Hawke, seeing her dog’s expression, started to laugh as she realized just how ridiculous her statement had sounded- even to her dog.

  “Alright… so I’m not about to lick you awake,” she said with a chuckle.  Hawke sat up in bed with a yawn, stretching her arms high above her head. She put her arms down and looked at her hound. “I’m awake now and I hope you’re happy,” she said with an affectionate smile. The dog gave a happy bark and then he proceeded to give Hawke another sloppy lick across her face.

  “I love you too, boy. Now get off of me and go play with Sandal,” she ordered. After one more wet kiss, the hound did as Hawke had instructed; he jumped off of the bed and padded out of her room in search of Sandal. Hawke shook her head and smiled - that dog was too smart for his own good.

  Hawke could tell by the brightness of her bedroom that she had slept in late again, a very unusual thing for her to do. However, lately she had been feeling tired and not her usual self. She had just contributed her lack of energy to the all the extra work and stress that was caused by her involvement with Anders and the mage underground movement. _Maker_ … _I can’t believe I slept so late… the morning’s half gone!_ This was starting to become a very unwelcomed pattern with her, and Hawke was not pleased with herself at all.

  Hawke’s expression abruptly changed when she felt that now all too familiar nauseous feeling come upon her; she knew she was about to be violently sick. She quickly threw back the covers and leapt off her bed as she tried desperately to reach the brass chamber pot in time. Hawke ran to where the large pot was located and before she barely had time to position her head over its wide opening, her stomach heaved and emptied its contents into the container.  Her stomach heaved again and again, until finally there was nothing left. With her retching at an end and her nausea diminished, Hawke slumped to the floor in relief.

  “Hawke! Are you up there? Do you know what time it is? You can’t still be abed at this hour…Hawke?”  Aveline, standing at the foot of the stairs, shook her head to herself when she received no response from her friend. She sighed and started to walk up the stairs to the second floor where Hawke’s bedroom was located.

  When the ginger- haired Guard-Captain reached the second floor, she called out to Hawke again, but she still did not get an answer. She knew that Hawke was in her room, for Bodahn had already confirmed that she had not come downstairs as of yet.

  Aveline walked through the opened doorway of Hawke’s bedroom and said, “By the Maker, Hawke! If I allowed my guardsmen to lie about in bed this late, they’d never -” She suddenly stopped speaking when Hawke came into her line of sight.

  Hawke was sitting on the floor, knees drawn to her chest with her arms wrapped around them; her head was bent forward face down, her forehead resting upon her knees.

  “Hawke! Are you okay?” Aveline asked her worriedly. Aveline quickly perused the room, noticing the way the covers had been forcefully thrown back and that Hawke was sitting next to the chamber pot. “You’re sick,” she stated in slight bewilderment. Hawke _never_ got sick. Now she was really worried.

  Hawke raised her head and gave the Guard-Captain a fleeting smile. “Hello, Aveline.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust; her mouth had an awful aftertaste in it. “Would you mind pouring me a glass of water?” asked Hawke with another small smile. “I really need to rinse my mouth out.”

  Aveline went to Hawke’s desk, where Bodahn had left a pitcher of water and a glass goblet; she poured water into the goblet. The Guard-Captain took the glass goblet and walked over to stand next to Hawke where was sitting, and handed her the water.

  “Thank you, Aveline.”  Hawke rinsed her mouth out with the tepid water a few times before dumping the unused liquid into the chamber pot. She handed the glass back to Aveline and then slowly stood to her feet. “Well, that was fun,” she muttered under her breath.

  Aveline gave Hawke a searching look, trying to determine what sort of illness her friend was suffering from. Hawke’s face was a bit paler than usual and there was a slight sheen of sweat upon her brow, which was most likely due to the exertion of retching, but other than that, she looked fairly normal.

  “How long have you been feeling this way, Hawke?” she inquired.  Aveline frowned when Hawke didn’t answer right away. “You might as well tell me what I wish to know, for I’m not leaving here without the answers I seek,” she said in her usual no nonsense manner. “And I _will_ get my answers, Hawke – one way or another.”  Aveline crossed her arms in front of her chest and gave Hawke a look that clearly said she would not be going anywhere until Hawke gave her a satisfactory answer.

  Hawke sighed in mild annoyance. “Andraste’s ass, Aveline…”

  Aveline raised a single brow at Hawke and calmly said, “Andraste’s ass nothing- it’ll be _your_ ass if you don’t start talking, Hawke.”

  Hawke sighed again, but this time it was in resignation. “If you must know, Aveline, I’ve not been feeling well for several weeks now. I thought at first I had gotten some type of food poisoning… but when I kept getting nauseous on and off, I then thought that I had caught some kind of stomach illness…but now…”  her voice trailed off and she gave her shoulders a shrug to indicate that she had no idea what the problem was.

  Aveline stared at her for a moment and then asked, “Well, what does Anders think it is?” She frowned as Hawke looked away and refused to meet her eyes. “You _have_ been to his clinic, haven’t you?” she asked.

  “No. Anders and I haven’t exactly been getting along lately. Besides, I’m sure whatever this is will eventually go away…in time,” she replied with an obstinate look upon her face.

  Aveline was getting exasperated at the mage’s stubborn refusal to seek any type of help for her condition. She decided to take matters into her own hands. “Since you refuse to seek help, I will simply send Anders to you.”

  Hawke frowned at her statement. “No you won’t, Aveline… Anders doesn’t need to know anything about this.”

  “It’s either Anders, or by the Maker, I’ll go right now and tell Fenris everything,” Aveline threatened. The Guard-Captain knew _that_ would get the stubborn mage’s attention.

  “You wouldn’t dare!” exclaimed Hawke as she narrowed her eyes at her friend’s tenacity. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I would dare,” said Aveline with a certainty. “And I am dead serious. Your choice, Hawke…”

  Hawke glared at Aveline and swore under her breath. Aveline ignored her foul language and waited patiently for her to make a decision. Hawke gave another loud sigh and ran her hand roughly through her shoulder-length hair in irritation. She could not have Aveline running to Fenris and getting him all worried for something that would most certainly turn out to be nothing at all, and she couldn’t afford to have Fenris any more upset with her than he already was. The elf was not pleased with her involvement with the mage underground movement- and this would only serve to add more fuel to his already overly inflamed fiery temper.

  “Fine- I’ll speak to Anders,” she muttered unhappily in defeat.

  Aveline smiled in triumph; she had known that as soon as she mentioned Fenris, Hawke would give in. Fenris had become very protective of Hawke, now that the two of them were in a serious relationship, and he would be furious with Hawke for not telling him that she had been feeling so unwell for such an extended period of time. Aveline knew that Hawke would go to great lengths to make sure that Fenris would not find out, and Aveline was more than willing to use this fact against Hawke in order to gain her cooperation.

  “I’ll go wait downstairs while you get dressed, and then we can go to Anders’ clinic together,” Aveline said.

  “But I don’t-” Hawke started to disagree but quickly shut her mouth when Aveline silently mouthed the name _Fenris_ to her.

  Aveline gave her a smug smile, and then walked over to the desk and set the empty glass goblet down upon it. She turned back to Hawke and said, “Don’t take too long, Hawke. I haven’t got all day.”  Aveline heard Hawke swear at her as she vacated the angry mage’s room. “You’re still going to see Anders, Hawke,” she replied loudly over her shoulder. She chuckled out loud as she walked downstairs to wait.

  Hawke stood in the middle of her room and seriously thought about unleashing a few magic spells upon Aveline, but she quickly discarded that notion. Aveline was her friend and was only trying to look out for her. Besides, Hawke was starting to get a bit worried herself and thought it would probably be a good thing to find out what manner of illness she had.

_Well I’d better hurry up and get dressed before Aveline decides to run and tell Fenris what’s going on._ It’s not that Hawke routinely hid things from the elf, but she didn’t want to worry him- and she didn’t want Fenris to become even more overprotective of her than he already was. But she knew that she would be unable to hide things from him for much longer. He was already starting to wonder why she had suddenly had become _inaccessible_ to him as of late. She seemed to feel at her worst during the mornings and the evenings, so she had been staying away from Fenris during those hours… which meant their alone time had become pretty much non-existent. And now he was starting to get frustrated and more than a little hurt by her avoidance of him.

 Hawke quickly washed up and then clothed herself in leathers and armor. She felt more protected and less conspicuous wearing that than she did in the robes that most mages clothed themselves in. She pulled her hair into a single ponytail instead of the usual three, and then picked up her staff and her small pack; she attached both to their usual holding spots upon her armored leathers.

  “Hawke! Hurry up!” yelled Aveline from the bottom of the stairs.

  “I’m coming!” Hawke shouted as she exited her room. “If she’s this bossy with Donnic, it’s a wonder he hasn’t left her yet!” she mumbled under her breath.

  “I heard that,” replied Aveline. “Now move your ass, Hawke- double time!” 

  Hawke sighed as she walked down the stairs. Concerned friend or not, maybe she should reconsider using some of her spells on Aveline… _It’s just too bad I don’t know of one that would glue her mouth shut._


	3. Chapter 3

Anders, a worried expression on his face, stood uneasily in front of Hawke as she sat upright upon the rectangular table he used in his clinic for the examination of his patients. “Cat? Did you hear what I just said?” he asked softly as he searched her face.

  Hawke raised her aquamarine eyes to his light brown ones and stared at him, a bit dazed. She noticed that he was wearing a new set of dark colored robes. He looked handsome in them, she thought. She wondered why she hadn’t noticed before. “You’ve new robes… I like them on you, Anders.”  She smiled at Anders and wondered why he was looking at her so strangely.

  Anders wasn’t quite sure what to do. He knew that Hawke had heard what he had just told her, for her expression had changed right away. Actually her expression had changed several times. Anders had never before seen such a myriad of expressions cross her beautiful face in such a short span of time: shock, surprise, fear, unbelief, and wonder were but a few of them. But what worried him most was that she still had not responded verbally to the diagnosis he had just given her, yet when she _had_ finally spoken it was only to compliment him on his robes!

  “Hawke… are you alright?” he asked. “Do you want me to get Aveline?” 

  Aveline had decided to wait outside the closed doors of the clinic, to make sure that no one would enter and disturb Anders’ examination of Hawke. When the two of them had first arrived, she had pulled the healer aside and told him just how long Hawke had been feeling unwell; she was defiantly worried about Hawke’s condition.

  When Hawke still hadn’t responded to his questions, Anders moved to sit beside her on the table. He put an arm around her and pulled her close to his side. He really didn’t know what else to do at this point. If she had been anyone else sitting there, he would have no problem dealing with her in a clinical manner, but this was Catelynn Hawke. She was his closest friend and he loved her. Probably more than he should. So therefore, he was unable to look at her as simply just another one of his patients. Hawke just continued to sit there, staring vacantly out into the clinic, not focusing on anything in particular. Anders thought she might be in shock. He knew he was.

  Hawke sat there silently, her dazed mind tried desperately to comprehend and even process the information that it was just given. She did not know how to deal with what Anders had just told her. She did not know how to _feel_ about it all. It was just so…unexpected. Hawke felt Anders tighten his arm around her waist in an effort to either comfort her or commiserate with her. She moved closer to his side and leaned her head upon his broad shoulder.

  “What am I to do, Anders?” she asked him, finally speaking about the issue at hand, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can handle this…”  She was starting to panic.

  Hearing the rising panic in her voice, Anders leaned his cheek against the top of her head and then answered her in a way that he hoped would help to alleviate her fears. “You will do what you always do… what you have always done: Get through it and come out stronger. You’re not alone in this, Cat… I’m here for you,” he reminded her.

  “Yes… you’ve always been there for me… and you always will, won’t you Anders?” she replied softly.

  Anders paused slightly before responding, his expression turning somewhat sad before it became unreadable. “Yes, Hawke… I will be there for you always- until the day my life is ended.”

  Hawke lifted her head and then turned to look at him, wondering why he had phrased his response in such a strange way, but she found no answer in his guarded expression. Anders smiled at her then and the moment was gone.

  One of the doors to the clinic suddenly opened and the two mages turned to see who was at the entrance. Aveline stuck her head in and looked at Anders.

  “Done yet, Anders?” she asked the mage tersely. “There’s a bloody line of impatient people out here, all waiting to come in. Can I come in now?”

  Aveline decided not to wait for his answer and instead she entered the clinic, shutting the door firmly behind her. She walked over to the table and looked carefully at Hawke’s face. Aveline wasn’t sure she liked what she saw in her friend’s eyes. “Is it bad news?” she asked the two mages, her eyes moving first to Hawke and then to Anders’ face. “What’s wrong with her, Anders?”

  Anders shook his head slightly at Aveline and gave her a look that said he’d answer her question in a moment. He turned his head and looked over at Hawke. He noticed her look of panic had returned. “Do you want me to go with you when you tell Fenris?” He saw her stiffen slightly and her expression of panic intensified.

  “No!” she exclaimed. “You can’t tell Fenris!” she stated loudly and emphatically.  “No one else can know about… Not now… not yet,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes. “Promise me, Anders.”

  Anders frowned at Hawke but he nodded his head yes. What else could he do? He wasn’t about to argue with her when she was in such a state of turmoil and panic. He glanced at Aveline and he could tell that she was not happy with the promise he had just made. For Hawke’s sake, he hoped that he had just done the right bloody thing by promising her to keep quiet. Then again, this was not a condition that she could keep from everyone indefinitely, least of all Fenris.

  Hawke suddenly slid off the table. “I have to go now,” she said abruptly to Anders and Aveline. She grabbed her staff from where she had left it on a small table and then walked swiftly towards the exit. Anders and Aveline watched her walk away.

  “Hawke… Wait!” Aveline called to her, hoping for some answers.

  Hawke stopped for a moment, but did not turn around. “Aveline, I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later,” she said firmly. With that, she pulled open the door and left the clinic.

  Anders slid off the side of the examination table and looked over at the opened door as patients started filing in. By the amount of people entering his clinic, the rest of the day was going to be very busy for him. He noticed that Aveline was still standing there, watching him with an expectant look on her face. “Aveline…”Anders sighed. “You heard me promise Hawke, I would not tell _anyone_ about her condition.” 

  Aveline narrowed her eyes at him in disapproval. He eyed the sword strapped to her back and wondered, who could hurt him more… the Guard-Captain or Hawke?

  “I’m not leaving here until you tell me what’s going on, Anders. We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way…your choice,” replied Aveline firmly, as she crossed her arms in front of her.

  Anders decided that at the moment, Aveline could hurt him more, since she was actually standing in front of him. He sighed again. “I can’t tell you, Aveline… but that doesn’t mean I can’t confirm something that you may have already guessed,” he told her with a very pointed look. He waited for Aveline to figure things out on her own.

  Aveline furrowed her brow as she tried to go over everything in her mind that she already knew about Hawke’s illness. She knew that she had been feeling sick off and on for several weeks… she was mostly nauseous, she was sleeping later so that meant she was also feeling more tired than normal… but what else? Aveline knew there was more…something was nagging her…something she noticed recently about Hawke. The image of Hawke standing in her room earlier that day, wearing only a flimsy night gown, filled her thoughts _… Maker!_

  Aveline turned to Anders and stared at him in surprise, her eyes widening in shock, as the realization hit her. “She’s…?”  Anders nodded his head. “How-”  __

“The usual way, I imagine,” Anders replied dryly, cutting her off.

  Aveline gave him a perturbed look. “I was going to say- how is she handling the news?”

  “Well you saw her… what do _you_ think?” replied Anders with a shrug of his shoulders. “I just hope she tells Fenris soon. Hawke is going to need all the support from him she can get.”

  Aveline looked at the mage and smiled. “No need to worry about that. Unlike you, I never promised not to tell anyone what I know. If she doesn’t tell Fenris soon, I’ll make sure he finds out- one way or another,” she said.

  Anders looked at the Guard-Captain for a moment. “You, Aveline, are a very formidable woman.” He smiled at her then and said, “Hawke is very lucky to have you as a friend.”

  Aveline thought about everything she had been through with Hawke over the past seven years. All the questionable activities, all the times she looked the other way, all the times she had protected the mage. She smiled back at Anders and said simply, “Yes. She is.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 The sounds of laughter and loud conversations, mixed in with drunken revelry, rose from the busy tavern downstairs to mingle with the voices of the elf, two men, and dwarf that were playing cards upstairs.

  Anders swore loudly as he lost yet another hand of Diamond Back. Varric chuckled in amusement as the mage flung the losing hand of cards across the table. Donnic sighed and complained that Varric had dealt him the worst cards possible and Fenris mumbled that he may have to go to Hawke for a loan if his luck didn’t change soon.

  Out of the seven hands that the four friends had played thus far, Varric had won six of them. Varric thought that either he was having an unusual run of very good luck tonight, or something very strange was going on with his friends. Not one of them seemed to be concentrating on playing their cards correctly at all.

  Varric leaned back further into his seat at the head of the large ornate table, and observed the two men and elf as they studied the cards that had just been dealt to them. During the course of the last few hours, Varric had noticed several odd things: the mysterious looks being exchanged between Anders and Donnic; Anders constantly throwing away cards he shouldn’t have; Donnic looking at Fenris in a very peculiar way when he thought the elf’s attention was elsewhere; and Fenris…well he had taken his broodiness to a new level- even for him. It seemed all three of them had their minds on things other than Diamond Back.

  Varric looked down at his hand of cards and then looked at the cards that Anders and Donnic had just thrown down; he was about to win another hand. Varric threw down two of his cards, and replaced them with two from the ones the other three had discarded. He placed his cards onto the table with a flourish and grinned. “And that, gentlemen, is how you play Diamond Back,” stated Varric. “Now pay up.”

  Donnic groaned and removed ten silvers from his dwindling pile of coins and tossed them to Varric. Both Anders and Fenris swore under their breath as they both paid the dwarf his winnings. Varric laughed and told them the next round of drinks was on him, since it looked like none of them could afford to buy their own drinks now.

  “So, Fenris… how is Hawke doing these days?” he asked the elf. Varric had not seen hide nor hair of her the last few days, and he had been wondering what she had been up to. He assumed that Fenris would be the best person to ask about her welfare; they way the two of them followed each other around, one would think they were joined at the hip.

  “I would not know,” Fenris replied tersely.

  Varric raised a brow in surprise. “You mean _you_ haven’t seen her either?” he inquired incredulously. “Huh. Usually the two of you are inseparable.”

  Fenris glanced at the dwarf, his dark eyebrows slanting downwards as he frowned. “Obviously things have changed,” he responded in restrained anger.

  Well, _that_ certainly explained the elf’s moodiness, Varric thought to himself. He knew that _he_ would be more than a little cranky if his lover was giving him the cold shoulder- not that it had ever happened to him. But Varric could imagine how Fenris might be feeling at the moment, so he would just overlook the elf’s broodiness for now. Varric took a sip of his ale as he looked at Anders.

  “What about you, Blondie? I know you’ve seen her. How’s Hawke doing?” he asked in a seemingly casual manner. He watched the mage’s expression closely as he continued to drink his ale.

Anders’ expression was guarded, but Varric did notice he gave Donnic a quick sideways glance before answering. “She… seems to be fine.”  Anders picked up his tankard of ale and took a drink, saying nothing more.

  Before Varric could ask the mage anything further, Fenris turned to Anders and said, “ _Seems to be fine_? What do you mean by that? Either she _is_ fine or she _is not_.” The elf frowned at Anders when he didn’t respond quickly enough. He then turned to Donnic and said, “What do you have to say about all this? Do not think I have not noticed the strange way you have been looking at me all evening.” Fenris glowered at the guardsman. “What are you not telling me?” he asked Donnic rather angrily.

  So, the elf was paying attention after all… good for him, thought Varric. He sat back, his forearms on the chair’s armrest and observed the others with extreme interest; both Anders and Donnic looked like a cat that had just eaten someone’s pet canary and Fenris looked like he wanted to rip somebody’s heart out.

  Donnic looked at the angry elf and then glanced at his hand of cards; he sighed and with great regret, laid them down onto the table. “Maker… I actually had a winning hand that time,” he mumbled under his breath.

  Donnic leaned back in his chair and suddenly wished to be anywhere else but there. He blamed his wife, Aveline, for putting him in the uncomfortable position that he now found himself to be in. If it had been up to Donnic, he would have happily minded his own business and pretended his wife had never told him anything about Hawke’s situation. However, he did agree with Aveline that Fenris should be told- just not by him. But Aveline insisted that for Hawke’s sake, someone had to make sure that Fenris found out the truth if Hawke wouldn’t- or couldn’t- tell him; and she had decided that the “someone” was to be Donnic. Donnic looked imploringly at Anders for some help.

 Anders raised his brows, shaking his head, and said, “Don’t look at me… I promised her I wouldn’t.”

  Fenris’ patience was rapidly coming to an end and his anger was increasing steadily moment by moment. He leaned forward in his chair, rising slightly, his hands placed flat on the table before him, and with a snarl at both men he said, “I suggest _one_ of you start talking- and quickly. If not, I promise you both that you will _not_ enjoy what happens next.” 

  Anders visibly bristled at Fenris’ threat. “Never threaten a mage, elf… it’s not good for your continued health,” responded Anders with a challenging stare at Fenris. Donnic just looked even more uncomfortable and wished again he was elsewhere.

  The atmosphere in Varric’s living-quarters grew tense as Anders and Fenris continued to stare angrily at one another, each unwilling to back down. Poor Donnic kept glancing back and forth between Anders and Fenris, and wondered if he would be forced to arrest his two friends. Varric looked at Donnic and then glanced over to Bianca, his faithful crossbow; as usual she wasn’t too far from his side, but he pulled her closer to him, just in case.

  Donnic picked up his sword from where he had leaned it against his chair and placed it on the top of the table, in front of him and between his two friends. “Now, you two… I’m not going to have to arrest the pair of you, am I?” asked Donnic as he looked first at Anders and then at Fenris. “Because I’m sure that neither of you wants to have to face Aveline and explain why the pair of you are in jail.”

  Varric had to chuckle aloud at that one. Leave it to Donnic to threaten them with his wife. Varric knew that threat certainly would have worked on him- Aveline scared the piss out of him sometimes! And by the expressions on both Anders and Fenris’ faces, he knew that they were both just as afraid of Aveline as he was. Varric chuckled again in amusement when the mage and the elf suddenly stopped glaring at each other, and settled back down into their respective seats.

  “Fenris… I know that you are upset, and I don’t blame you,” said Donnic. “But I don’t think it’s my place to say anything- despite what my wife may think.”  Donnic gave a fleeting smile to Fenris and then continued to explain his position on the matter. “We are friends, you and I. And as your friend, I will tell you this one thing- you must go and talk to Hawke…tonight if possible.” Donnic searched his friend’s face, his own expression turning serious. “Go to her Fenris, and no matter what happens, you best not leave until she has told you everything. Even if it means you have to force the truth out of her.”

 

  Varric looked at Donnic and said, “I don’t know what’s going on-and maybe I don’t need to- but now you’ve got me worried about Hawke.” He turned to look at Fenris.

  “I think you should do what Donnic has suggested, Fenris. You need to go and speak to Hawke- as soon as possible.”

  Fenris stared across the table at Anders for a long moment. “And what do you say, mage?” Fenris continued to stare at Anders intently, his face unreadable to the mage.

  “Do you love her, elf?” Anders asked Fenris, his own expression carefully neutral.

  “Yes… with all my heart.” Fenris replied softly but firmly, his gaze never wavering from Anders face.

  “Then you already know what you should do,” replied Anders quietly.

  The dwarf and two men watched silently as the elf picked up his long two-handed sword and slid it into the sheath on his back; he nodded to them and then quickly departed from Varric’s room.

  Varric turned to Anders and Donnic, and asked, “So… shall we call it a night, or are you two up for another hand or two of Diamond Back?”

  Donnic glanced at Anders and the mage shrugged his shoulders saying, “I’m game. I’d rather be here with the two of you anyway… just in case.”

  Donnic gave the mage a puzzled look. “Just in case..?”

  “Just in case Hawke comes looking for me,” explained Anders with a faint smile.

  “If that happens, Blondie,” said Varric with a small chuckle as he started to deal the cards to the two men, “You’ll need more than the two of us to keep you safe from Hawke.”

  Varric picked up his hand of cards and studied them for a moment. “Well, gentleman, I do believe you’re going to owe me more coin,” he said with a grin. He spread out his hand of cards on the table for the two men to see. Both Anders and Donnic swore out loud. “And that, my friends, is Diamond Back.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

It was late in the evening when Catelynn Hawke arrived back home. Her Mabari hound greeted her with a joyful bark as she entered her estate. Hawke smiled and reached down with her hand to ruffle the short fur at the back of his neck in acknowledgement of his welcome. “Missed me boy?” she asked with a pat to his head. “I brought you a nice leg of mutton… here you go,” she said as she held out the rather large leg of meat for him to take; the dog bit into one end of the leg and carefully removed it from Hawke’s outstretched hand. The hound ambled away from Hawke in search of a quiet place to go and enjoy his treat in leisure.

  Hawke walked over to her writing desk and sifted through the stack of mail that Bodahn had placed there earlier in the day. She leafed through numerous requests and pleas for her help, quickly perusing them. There seemed to be quite a few of them that had come in over the past few days, however Hawke laid them aside for another day; she just didn’t have the energy to deal with the requests right now.

  Hawke glanced over to the left of the desk and saw that Bodahn had left a note addressed to her; she picked it up and read it. It seems that her manservant and his son had gone to visit some friends for the evening and would not be returning until tomorrow afternoon. Bodahn stated further in his note that he had left her dinner upstairs in her room and reminded her not to forget to lock the door of her estate before she went to sleep. Hawke smiled and placed the note back onto the desktop, grateful that Bodahn was not only conscientious and efficient in his duties, but also in the way he took care of her. She knew that she would miss the dwarf greatly when the day came for him, and his son, to leave her service.

  The tired mage sighed and rolled her neck from side to side in an effort to ease the tension out of her muscles- she seemed to constantly have knots in them these days. The continual effort of trying to keep her condition hid from Fenris and the others, as well as her relentless need to avoid everyone that may ask too many questions, had been taking a heavy toll on her. Hawke knew she couldn’t keep her condition hid for too much longer; it was only a matter of time before everyone would find out.

  Hawke yawned and decided to go upstairs to her bedroom to wash and change her clothing. She had spent the day at the Bone Pit, making sure that the workers had everything that they needed and that the entire operation was running smoothly. It has been a long, tiring day for her and she was covered in dirt and grit from the mines.

  She glanced through the open doorway of the study on her way to the stairs and saw that her hound was happily chewing on his leg of mutton as he lay sprawled, completely at home, upon her small couch in front of the room’s fireplace.

  “Night boy, try not to get mutton all over my new couch,” she said to the hound as she passed by. The dog stopped chewing long enough to give her short answering bark, and then continued on gleefully with his snack.

  Hawke slowly walked up the stairs to the second floor. She paused for a moment to listen when she reached the top, wondering if Anders was in his room; she heard only silence. It seemed that she and her hound were the only ones at home this night. She resumed walking again and entered her bedroom with a small sigh, feeling a bit lonely in the unusually quiet estate.

  The mage walked over to stand in front of her large wardrobe; she pulled open the double doors and looked inside. Finding what she was looking for, she reached in and removed a sleeveless white nightgown from its hanger and turning around, she tossed the garment onto her bed. She turned back to the wardrobe and proceeded to undress completely after removing her staff and small pack and laying them down on the bottom floor of the wardrobe.

  Once undressed, Hawke walked over to the basin of water sitting on one of the small stands and began to wash in the lukewarm water. When finished she went to her bed and taking up the silk nightgown, she slid the garment over her head and down the soft, full curves of her body.

  “Maker…I have missed the sight of you like that,” stated Fenris softly as he stood there gazing at her.

  Hawke, startled by his voice, gasped sharply and turned around to stare at the handsome elf as he stood a few feet from her bed, watching her. She had not heard him enter and was more than a little surprised at his presence in her bedroom. “Fenris! H-h-how did you get in?” she asked him, stuttering slightly in her surprise.

  “Through the front door,” he answered. “The _unlocked_ front door,” Fenris added in a slightly disapproving voice. “You really should not leave your door unlocked, Hawke. But it is locked now.” He didn’t want any interruptions tonight. He just hoped Anders was smart enough to sleep at his clinic down in Darktown.

  Hawke frowned as she tried to remember if she had locked the door- it would seem she had not. Despite her manservant’s written reminder she had indeed forgotten to lock the door of her estate before retiring to her room. And it would appear that her Mabari had been too pre-occupied with his leg of mutton to warn Hawke that she had a visitor. Then again, the Mabari knew and liked Fenris and in the past the dog hadn’t always let Hawke know of the elf’s arrival since he wasn’t an unwelcomed visitor, or a threat to the mage.

  Fenris stood there, looking at the woman he loved, the woman who for some unfathomable reason had been keeping her distance from him and had been avoiding spending any time with him. Never, at anytime in his life thus far, had he felt as alone as he had during the past few weeks when she had withheld her presence from him.

  “Hawke… what is going on?” he asked as he searched her face for some hint of whatever was going on in that complicated mind of hers.

  “What do you mean? There’s nothing going on,” she replied disingenuously with a forced smile. Her mind raced as she frantically tried to think of a way to appease Fenris without revealing anything to him.

  “Do not,” he said sharply. “I deserve better than to be lied to.”

  Hawke’s smiled faded when she heard the hurt and anger in Fenris’ voice. She knew her actions these past few weeks had hurt him deeply and she hated herself for that. And now she had made it worse by lying to him. Hawke’s aquamarine eyes suddenly filled with glistening tears, and before she was able to stop them, one by one the tears began to silently fall down her cheeks.

  Fenris looked at her in absolute shock; tears were the last thing that he had ever expected from her. He didn’t know what to do. Anger, denial, and even physical violence he could deal with, but not her tears. It was just so unlike her.

  “I’m sorry, Fenris.” Hawke spoke softly, not knowing what else to say.

  “Tell me Hawke, just what are you sorry for? If you were truly sorry, you would not have just lied to me. So what exactly are you apologizing for?” Fenris asked her, his anger simmering just below the surface. Tears or not, he wasn’t going to make things easy on her. He was going to get to the truth, one way or another.

  Hawke’s eyes widened slightly at the anger and condemnation she heard in his voice. She brushed at the tears that were still falling, furiously wiping them from her face. Obviously the elf was not looking for an apology from her- so be it then. He would get none further from her. After all, everything that had been happening to her during the last several weeks was due to him. It was his entire fault she was in the condition that she was in. Fenris wanted the truth from her? She’d give him the bloody truth- that and more.

  Fenris had been watching the play of emotions that had been flitting across her beautiful face, and he hid a smile as her tears were replaced by her indignation. This was more like the mage that he was used to; he knew he was about to get the answers from her that he had been seeking.

  Hawke narrowed her eyes at Fenris, glaring at him. She had decided that instead of being on the defensive, she would go on the attack instead. “You know what? I’m not sorry about anything!” she exclaimed irately. “So what if I haven’t informed you of every little thing that has been happening to me these past several weeks! We’re not married, are we? No, we are not! So, I’ve been a little sick on and off… am I supposed to go running to you every single time I get nauseous and retch into the chamber pot?” Hawke began to pace angrily in front of him, gesturing forcefully into the air with her hands as she spoke. “Am I supposed to inform you every time I feel tired or out of sorts? What can you possible do to make me feel better? You’re no healer.” Hawke paused momentarily in her tirade to catch her breath; she stopped pacing and stood before her full length mirror, looking at her reflection within it.

  Fenris walked closer to Hawke, coming to a stop a few feet behind her, and looked at her through the mirror’s reflection. “Wait- you have been sick?” he asked worriedly. “It’s not…something serious, is it?” he asked as his concerned green eyes met her angry ones in the reflection of the mirror, his dark eyebrows slanted downwards in a frown.

  Hawke saw the immense concern in his eyes and suddenly her anger left her just as quickly as it had appeared. She couldn’t blame him for his reaction. Hawke knew that he deserved to know the truth, since her situation would affect him just as much as it affected her. She loved Fenris with all her heart and she knew that he loved her just as much. She just hoped their love was strong enough to deal with the changes that were about to happen in their very near future.

  She shook her head no and gave a deep sigh before finally answering Fenris. “No, it’s not…serious. Not in the way you mean it, at least.” She gave him a fleeting smile that was a bit cryptic in nature. Hawke saw the relief in Fenris’ face and smiled at him again as she continued to look at him in the mirror.

  Fenris returned her smile and continued to search her face in the mirror’s reflection as he stood behind her. His gaze lowered as he skimmed over her entire form as she stood before the mirror in her nightclothes. His eyes suddenly narrowed and then widened slightly in surprise when he saw something in her reflection that he had not noticed earlier. He moved closer to her and reached his arm around her to place his hand onto her stomach; his eyes widened again in amazement at his discovery. He put his other arm around her, encircling her in his strong embrace, pulling her back against him as he drew her closer to him.

   “When were you going to tell me, Hawke?” he asked her softly. Hawke remained silent, gazing at his striking face in the mirror. “When were you going to tell me that you are carrying my child?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Fenris stood staring into the flames of the fire that was burning low in the fireplace in Hawke’s bedroom, a thoughtful expression on his face. He had not slept yet, despite the weariness he felt in his body and mind, but instead he had remained awake keeping a thoughtful vigil over Hawke as she slept peacefully in her bed.

  Fenris rubbed his bare arms in an effort to warm himself. The early morning air had turned cooler, and with Bodahn still away, the other fireplaces within the estate had been left unattended and the fires had gone out, making the large home somewhat chilly. Fenris picked up a log from the wood bin and added it to the fire, stoking the flames higher with an iron poker. When the elf had coaxed the fire into burning hot enough, he replaced the poker back onto its stand; he crossed his arms in front of his bare chest and continued once again to stare into the burning flames.

  Hawke murmured in her sleep and rolled to her left, her outstretched hand seeking Fenris. Her eyes slowly opened when her hand landed on nothing but an empty side of the bed; alarmed she sat up abruptly. “Fenris?” she called out. She suddenly remembered another time when she had awoken to find him not there beside her and heart suddenly tightened in fear.

  Fenris heard the slight alarm in her sleepy voice and he wondered if she was thinking of that certain night so long ago. But he had been in a different place in his life then, he was not that same elf anymore, and after learning that he was to become a father, leaving Hawke was not something that he would ever do now. He turned towards her and smiled.

  “I am here, Hawke,” he replied. “I am not going anywhere.”  Fenris noticed that the expression on her face changed from alarm, to fear, and then to relief all in the space of a moment. He gave her another small smile in an attempt to ease her worry, before turning back to stare into the fire.

  Hawke pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping both arms around her legs, and sat there in bed, studying Fenris as he stood before the fireplace. He was wearing a pair of black, loosely fitting linen pants that were tied, hung low on his slim hips- and nothing else. She remembered that he had left the nightclothes behind the last time he had slept over and she had put them in her wardrobe, thinking he might need them the next time he spent the night. That had been more than several weeks ago.

  She had missed seeing Fenris like this; his slim yet powerful body half unclothed, his lyrium markings standing out against his darker skin, the firelight casting shadows across his muscles. She hadn’t realized until now just how much she had missed… well, missed _him_. She wondered if he had even slept at all last night, for he looked tired to her.

  “Fenris?” she asked. “Are you alright?”  Hawke waited for him to say something- to say anything.

  “Yes. I am fine,” he replied succinctly without turning around.  He uncrossed his arms and placed a hand upon the mantle, leaning forward slightly as he continued to watch the flames that were burning intensely in the hearth.

  “Are you sure? You don’t seem fine…”  Hawke’s voice trailed off uncertainly. She wished he would tell her how he was feeling… what he was thinking. Hawke sighed softly and rested her chin on the top of her bent knees as a wave of nausea washed over her. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly against the rising tide of nausea, trying desperately to keep her stomach from heaving.

  “Hawke? Are you feeling okay?” he suddenly asked her. Fenris had glanced over at her and had noticed the strange expression on her face. She looked a bit paler than usual to him; he wondered if she felt sick.

  Hawke opened her eyes when she heard the concern in his voice. “Yes,” she replied, determined not to be sick in front of him. She took another deep breath and willed herself not to retch. Unfortunately her body had other ideas. “No,” she said as she flung the covers back off of her and quickly vacated her bed in search of the brass chamber pot. As soon as she reached it, her stomach began its all too familiar morning ritual and emptied itself into the waiting container.

  Alarmed at the amount of noise she was making as she retched into the chamber pot, Fenris hurriedly strode over to her and kneeled down by her side. He tenderly brushed her light golden-brown hair away from her face and murmured to her in Elvish, not knowing what else to do for her.

  In a few moments Hawke’s stomach stopped heaving and she pushed the chamber pot away from her as she sat upright with a look of relief. Fenris stood up and then reached down to pick up the soiled chamber pot in order to dispose of its contents. Hawke watched gratefully as he left the room with the container.

  Hawke stood up and went over to the desk where Bodahn earlier had placed the usual pitcher of water and cup for her use. She poured water into the cup and then took a large sip, swishing the water around in her mouth before swallowing, in an effort to rid her mouth of any aftertaste. She looked around the desktop until she spied the small container that she kept filled with mint leaves; chewing on them not only helped to settle her stomach but the mint also freshened her breath. She opened the container and withdrew a few leaves of fresh mint and popped them into her mouth.

  “Feeling better now?” asked Fenris as he entered her room carrying the now empty and cleaned chamber pot in one hand. Hawke nodded her head yes and watched as he returned the brass pot to its usual spot on the floor by her bed. Fenris walked over to the fireplace and added another log to the fire. After stoking the fire, he turned to look at Hawke, wondering why she was being so quiet all of a sudden.

  Hawke glanced at him and then looked away. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” she said self-consciously.

  Fenris raised a brow as he realized that she was actually embarrassed. He continued to look at her, but she still wouldn’t meet his gaze. He didn’t understand why she would feel that way. As far as he knew, it was rather normal for a woman with child to have morning sickness, so why should she feel embarrassed?

  “Hawke, look at me,” he said. She lifted her head and met his eyes, still looking slightly uncomfortable. “Why should you be embarrassed about being sick in front of me?” he asked her and then added, “After all I have seen you naked.”

  Hawke gave Fenris a strange look at that last statement. She wasn’t too sure how he meant that- how she should take his words.

  Fenris caught her confused look and smiled at her. “I just meant that you have already bared all of yourself to me,” he explained. “And you were not embarrassed then, so why should this small thing cause you embarrassment?

  Hawke mused over his question thoughtfully. She wasn’t really sure why it bothered her so much for him to see her ill. Maybe it was because she felt so at a disadvantage- so vulnerable – when she was sick and not in control of her body’s actions and reactions. She was a woman that, until now, had been used to being in charge and in control of her life- as well as most situations that she had found herself in. But now she felt that she had no control over anything at all- and it scared her.

  Hawke had spent the last several years trying to achieve a certain level of power and control, as well as wealth, so that she could live her life free from the usual subjugation that most mages lived under.  She had learned her craft well, honing her magical abilities until she had become the very powerful and talented mage that she was now. And yet, despite all the power and control she had achieved, despite all the magical talents and abilities she possessed, she was unable to stop her own stomach from spewing forth its contents every single morning and evening. _So much for controlling my own life! I can’t even stop myself from heaving into a bloody chamber pot every day!_

  Fenris watched the parade of emotions that marched across her face as she stood there, deep in thought. He could see that Hawke was having a hard time dealing with the situation they now found themselves in, but he couldn’t help her if she wouldn’t open up to him and let him know how she was feeling, or what she was thinking.  

  “I feel so out of control, Fenris… things are changing much too fast,” she said softly.

  “Despite what you may think, Hawke, you cannot control everything that happens in your life,” replied Fenris with a half smile. “Change is inevitable.”

 “But what if you liked your life the way it was? What if you didn’t want it to change?” she asked him, her voice barely a whisper.

  Fenris looked stunned. It had never occurred to him that she might not want to have the child- his child. “You do not want this child?” he asked in disbelief, his green eyes searching her face for the truth. “You do not want the child,” he stated dully. He felt like a sharp dagger had just been thrust into his gut and then turned for good measure.

  “I didn’t say that…” her voice trailed off. Hawke didn’t know _what_ she was saying.  All she knew was that she loved Fenris and she did not want to hurt him- nor did she want to lose him.

  “Then what _are_ you saying, Hawke?” Fenris’ eyes shone bright with hurt and anger as he looked at her. “Maybe it is _my_ child you do not want… maybe you do not wish to bring a half-breed into this world,” he accused her, his tone cold and hard as he continued speaking, “A child that would have both Human and Elven blood, accepted by neither race.”

  Now it was Hawke’s turn to look stunned. She glared at the elf, her eyes narrowing in anger. “How can you say such a thing to me? How can you even think such a thing?” she furiously asked him. “That thought has never entered my mind,” she snapped at him. Actually, that was not entirely true- she had thought about what it would mean to raise a child that would be of both races, but never really accepted by either- but she wasn’t about to let _him_ know that now!

  She shot Fenris another irate look as she walked angrily towards him, stopping but a mere several inches away from him. “You bloody insufferable elf! How dare you insinuate that I would feel that way about my own- our own- child!” Hawke took another step closer to him, her eyes blazing hotly in anger and jabbed him in his chest with her finger. “I will love this child no matter what, you...you… _elf_!” 

  Fenris looked down at the irate mage that stood before him and gave her a fleeting smile, rubbing a hand across the spot on his chest where she had poked him. “Now that we have established that I am indeed an elf,” he said with a slight inflection of humor in his voice, “I apologize for my previous statements and I stand entirely corrected.”

  Hawke looked up at Fenris, a little leery of his sudden change of attitude. She wasn’t quite sure why he seemed so…pleased. Hawke also had the very distinct feeling that he found her humorous, for some bloody reason. She sighed loudly; her anger now dissipated, and glanced up at Fenris. “You know, you take all the fun out of being angry at you when you give in so easily,” she grumbled half to herself.

  Fenris, laughing out loud at her words, swiftly pulled the startled mage into his arms and embraced her closely to his bare chest. Fenris felt the tension leave Hawke’s body as she wrapped her arms around his chest and leaned her body up against his. She turned her head to one side and rested her cheek against the hard muscles of his chest, finding comfort in the sound of his steady heartbeat.

  Fenris tightened his arms around Hawke and leaned his head downwards until his cheek was resting upon the top of her head. “Ma emma lath… ma emma vhenan’ara,” he murmured to her softly. “Ma’arlath.”

  “Ma _ehm_ -ma lath… ma _ehm_ -ma _vey_ -nahn- _ahr_ -ah… _mar_ -lath,” spoke Hawke as she repeated his words slowly, trying to say them as he did. She lifted her head and looked up at him. “Those are Elvish words, aren’t they?”  Fenris nodded his head yes. “You said those same words to me when I was sick earlier… what do they mean?”

  “You are my love… you are my heart’s desire. I love you,” he replied. Yet the tone in his voice and the expression on his face revealed the true depths of his feeling for the woman he loved- even more than his sincere and heartfelt words did.

  Hawke felt her eyes fill with uncontrollable tears as she stared into Fenris’ green eyes. She had never loved anyone in the way that she loved this elf, and she was starting to realize that his love for her was just as fierce and all-consuming; it was all so overwhelming to her.

  Fenris looked slightly alarmed when he saw tears starting to roll slowly down the curves of her cheeks. “You’re crying, Hawke,” said Fenris stating the obvious in his unease. “Please do not cry.” He gave Hawke an anxious look.

  “I’m sorry… I can’t seem to help it these days,” she replied tearfully, sniffling now and again.  She gave Fenris a watery smile in an attempt to relieve his unease, but the tears continued to fall.

  At a loss as to what else to do, Fenris dipped his head slightly downwards and captured Hawke’s mouth with his, kissing her with an unbridled passion that almost took her breath away. After a few moments, Hawke had to finally pull away from his embrace in order to catch her breath. Gasping for breath, her head spinning, Hawke laughed and pleaded for mercy. “Maker, Fenris! What made you kiss me like that?” she asked him.

  “I did not know what else to do… to stop your tears,” he replied with a small smile.

  Hawke laughed again and looked at him curiously. “You’re not planning on doing that every time I start to cry, are you?” she asked him with an odd look.

  Fenris stared at her for a moment and thought about it. “So… you are saying that this crying thing… that you do now… will probably continue?” he asked uneasily.

  “I’m not sure… I’ve never been with child before, but I guess it’s fair to say… yes,” she replied.

  Fenris looked at her again and sighed loudly. “Then expect to be kissed a lot,” he replied with a straight face. He raised a brow at Hawke when she began to laugh so hard that tears began to run down her face again. Fenris sighed once again. He didn’t see what was so funny- this having a child thing was turning out to be a whole lot of work.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Hawke sat on the small couch in her study, lazily stroking the head of her Mabari as he lay stretched across the couch, his massive head on her lap. She was doing her best to study the book of healing spells that Anders had given her, but the comforting warmth of the burning fire in the stone hearth was making her drowsy. She soon gave up on her reading and with a small sigh she closed the tome and dropped it to the floor. She continued on stroking the soft, short fur of her hound while her thoughts wandered idly here and there.

  Suddenly, her hound raised his head and cocked it to one side, as if he was listening to something. He gave a small, sharp bark, jumped off of the couch, and then raced up the stairway to the second floor of the study. Hawke heard her Mabari bark happily once or twice, and then she heard a loud thud followed by a muffled yell and an even louder string of curses.

  “Get off of me, you mangy bag of hide and bones! You’re getting me all bloody wet! Stop licking me and slobbering all over me!”

  “Come here, boy!” Hawke commanded, calling out to her hound over her shoulder.  “Let Anders up and leave him be, you daft dog!” she said, trying to hold back the laughter as her dog came bounding back down the stairs. Poor Anders! For some reason her Mabari thought it great fun to leap on Anders whenever he came home. Of course, Anders didn’t find it as fun as her dog did, but no matter how many times Hawke reprimanded her hound he still continued to do it. The Mabari either really liked Anders, or he just enjoyed tormenting the mage for fun.

  Freed from the heavy weight of the hound upon his chest, Anders stood up and made his way down the stairs to the lower floor. He walked over to the couch to sit down next to Hawke. She turned her head to study Anders as he sat down heavily beside her with a tired groan. His eyes were rimmed in red, either due to lack of sleep or too much strong drink, and there were dark, blue-black smudges under his eyes. Hawke wrinkled her nose as she caught a whiff of his scent- sweat mixed with a more earthy and musky odor- and while it was not a totally unpleasant aroma, Hawke thought the mage could do with a bath.

  “You look like something I would scrape off of the bottom of my boot, Anders,” she said not unkindly. “Have you even been to bed yet?” she asked him curiously.

  Anders, stifling a yawn, shook his head no. “I spent most of the night at Varric’s playing cards and then from there I went straight to my clinic,” he explained tiredly. “I had hoped to at least get a few hours of shut-eye, but I had to deal with a few emergencies in the early morning hours, and from then on things only got busier for me.” Anders leaned his head back against the cushion of the couch and closed his weary eyes, sighing deeply.

  Hawke turned her body towards Anders, so that she was facing him. She gazed at his profile as he sat there next to her. His hair was the same shade as hers, that light-golden brown color that could also pass as dark blonde, and as usual he had it tied back in a sort of half ponytail. She noticed that the stubble of his closely shaven beard had grown out a little longer than usual, giving him a certain roguish look. She had always thought the mage handsome, and he had only become more so over the last few years.

  “So, Cat… how did the elf react to the big news?”  Anders asked Hawke, startling her. She had thought him to be asleep, for his eyes had remained closed.

  “Fairly well, considering…  Actually, he reacted to the news much better than I did,” she answered. She reached over and gently brushed back a loose lock of his hair with her hand. “You should go to bed, Anders… you look dead tired,” she said.

  “Are you trying to get rid of me, Cat?” he asked. Anders opened his brown eyes and turned his head to look at her, a small grin on his face. “Afraid your elf will find us here together….all snuggled up and cozy on your couch?”

  Hawke shot the mage a mildly annoyed look. “I’m not trying to get rid of you, Anders- and we are not ‘all snuggled up’ together.”  Hawke started to move away from Anders, but he quickly reached behind her, encircling her with his left arm and drew her close against his side.

  “Now- what was that you were saying about us not being ‘all snuggled up’ together?” he asked with a mischievous grin. He laughed and tightened his grip around her when she tried to free herself from his one-armed embrace.

  After a few more half-hearted attempts to move away from him, Hawke gave a sigh of resignation and settled back against his side. The two mages sat in comfortable silence, watching the cheerful fire burning in the stone hearth, each lost in their individual thoughts and memories.

  After several moments had passed by, Anders finally broke the silence when he asked Hawke a serious question. “What will you do if the templars come for this child, Hawke?”  Anders glanced sideways at her, when she did not respond to his question right away. “Maybe you should think about leaving Kirkwall… before the child is born,” he suggested.

  Hawke turned her head slightly to look into Anders’ concerned face. “The Blight already drove me away from my home in Ferelden… I have worked too hard to build a new life here in Kirkwall, to let anyone drive me away from my home again. I will kill _anyone_ that tries to take my child away from me, Anders. I will die first, before I ever give up my child to the Circle.” Hawke had spoken softly, but vehemently, and Anders knew that she had meant every word. And he feared for her future.

  “It may turn out that the child will have no magical abilities, Hawke. Then the templars would have no cause to interfere,” replied Anders, trying to put her mind at ease. Yet _he_ still was troubled, for he knew the chances were slim that Hawke’s child would be born with no magical capabilities, for magic ran in her family’s line. And who knows what sort of traits Fenris had passed on to his unborn offspring, for the elf carried his own sort of power within, the result of the lyrium markings that had been burned into his skin. Anders started to speak again but his words were interrupted by another huge yawn.

  “Anders, you really should go to bed,” she chided him gently. “You can’t help anyone if you exhaust yourself.”  She wrinkled her nose and sniffed a few times. “And you need to bathe,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Are you trying to tell me that I have an odor that is less than pleasing?” asked Anders with a small grin.

  “ _Trying_ to tell you? I’m saying it. You smell,” Hawke replied bluntly. “And not in a good way,” she added. “I’ve come across darkspawn that smell better than you do right now.”  That last part wasn’t really true, but Hawke was trying to make a point. And she thought he might decide to leave her company a little quicker- before Fenris woke up and came looking for her. She knew he would not be pleased to see Anders… not at all.

  “Ouch! Now you’re just being down right mean with that last part,” he groused. “I’ve been around plenty of darkspawn and I _know_ I smell better than they do.” Anders gave her an overly exaggerated look of hurt and said, “You’ve hurt my feelings, Hawke. I may never get over it.” However, the glimmer of humor in his eyes told Hawke that statement was far from the truth.

  Hawke shook her head and laughed at Anders. “You know I love you, Anders. And I’m sure you’ll survive my honesty. Now go bathe and then get some sleep,” she said with another easy laugh.

  “As you wish, but I may need you to help me with my bath,” he told her with a cheeky grin. “I’m not sure I can keep myself awake long enough… I might fall asleep while bathing and end up drowning!” 

  “One can only hope,” said Fenris coldly, as he walked through the doorway, entering the study, still dressed in his bedclothes. “Then there would be one less abomination in this world,” stated the elf in a rather chilly tone of voice as he strode over to where the two mages were sitting. Fenris walked around the couch to face the two mages as they sat side-by-side on the low couch. The elf wore a less than pleased expression on his face as he stood with his arms crossed, observing the pair of them.

  “Fenris, that wasn’t a very nice thing to say to Anders,” said Hawke. She gave Fenris a disapproving look. Even though she knew that Fenris was not about to apologize for what he had said to Anders, she did want to make it crystal clear that she felt his words were uncalled for, and that she did not approve of what he had said. Fenris’ only acknowledgement of her rebuke was a quick glance at her- a look that clearly said, “I’ll deal with you later.” Hawke sighed, folding her arms before her, and said nothing further.

  “Don’t waste your breath, Hawke…your elf just needs more training in the finer points of having a civil conversation. Obviously, his former master did not train his _pet_ too well,” remarked Anders as he smiled pleasantly at Fenris. He enjoyed goading the hypocritical, sanctimonious elf into showing his true nature.

  “Don’t Anders,” hissed Hawke as she shot the mage a look of warning. “Do not make me regret taking your side earlier.” She had noticed Fenris’ sudden stiffness of body as his muscles tensed in anger, and had seen the slight narrowing of his green eyes at Anders’ insult. Hawke moved away from Anders’ side and then said, “I think it would be best if you go get some sleep now, Anders.” She looked at him, pleading silently with her eyes, for him to listen.

  “Yes, mage. Go. Now,” stated Fenris through tightly clenched teeth, as he struggled to contain the fury that was churning just below his calm exterior. He seriously wanted to do nothing more than to put his fist straight through the mages’ chest, putting an end to Anders’ sorry excuse of a life. But he knew Hawke would never forgive him if he ever hurt the mage. _What a pity,_ thought Fenris.

  Anders stared at Fenris for a moment, his expression unreadable, and then the mage turned to look at Hawke; his expression softened.  He smiled at her and said, “I can take a hint, Cat. Besides, it has become a tad too crowded in here now.”

  Hawke gave Anders a grateful smile as he stood up from the couch and walked away from her, towards the doorway. Fenris followed after him at a short distance and as soon as the mage had exited the room, Fenris shut the door firmly behind the departed mage, and locked it. Fenris turned away from the locked door, mumbling heatedly under his breath in Arcanum, as he walked back to where Hawke still sat on the couch. He seated himself beside her, in the same spot that Anders had reluctantly just vacated.

  “Well, you didn’t sleep very long,” she said looking at him with a faint smile. Fenris had finally fallen into an exhausted sleep a few hours earlier, so she had come down to the study to read while he slept.

  “And it is a good thing that I did not,” he replied with a disapproving, and somewhat jealous, glance at Hawke. Fenris didn’t understand how she could keep defending that walking abomination. Fenris knew very well that the mage was just waiting for the chance to claim Hawke as his own. _Over my dead body…_ he thought.

  Hawke sighed wearily but held her tongue. She was tired of always having to defend her friendship with Anders to Fenris. However, she was not about to get into another argument with Fenris, at least not today. She had other things planned for her and Fenris. And arguing over Anders, most definitely did not play a part in anything that she had in mind for Fenris. _No, my handsome elf…I have much better things in store for you, my love…_ thought Hawke. She turned to the elf and smiled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Fenris took a deep breath and tried to calm his anger. Even though he did not trust Anders, he trusted Hawke implicitly; he knew that she would never betray his love for her, or the faith he had in her. Yet the ugly head of jealously would often still rise within Fenris, whenever he found the two of them together- especially alone together. And now that Fenris knew that Hawke was carrying his unborn child, his fierce protectiveness of her had only grown stronger, as did his feelings of jealousy.

  Hawke had been observing Fenris ever since he had sat down next to her. He was staring rather passively into the hearth of the fireplace, his slim well-defined arms casually folded across his bare muscular chest. She was actually amazed at how calm he appeared to be. She was even more amazed that Fenris had apparently decided not to speak about what had just transpired with Anders, but instead was remaining silent on the subject. Hawke, frowning, gave the elf a closer look- maybe he wasn’t feeling well.

  “Hawke… why are you frowning at me like that?” asked Fenris, after glancing sideways at her and observing her furrowed brow. He sincerely hoped Hawke’s frown wasn’t due to what he had said to Anders, for he was in no mood to neither defend nor debate, his point of view on that particular subject.

  “Are you feeling alright, Fenris?” replied Hawke, as she answered his question with one of her own. Her face wore an expression of concern as she searched his face.

  Fenris arched a dark eyebrow and gave her a questioning look from beneath a stray lock of his silver-white hair. “I am fine…why do you ask?” He continued to look at her strangely while he waited for her reply.

  Hawke studied his face for a moment longer, but soon decided that he appeared well enough. Fenris looked like he could still use a few more hours of sleep, there were faint dark shadows under his eyes, but other than that he seemed in good health.  Her brow smooth once again, she smiled at the elf and answered, “Oh…no particular reason. Just checking I guess.”  Fenris didn’t need to know the real reason for her question, she decided…why tempt fate? She’d let well enough alone and be happy that there would be no arguing over Anders for once.

  Hawke gave the elf another smile but continued to observe him discretely as he turned his face from her and resumed his thoughtful contemplation of the burning logs within the hearth. Although Hawke was relieved that Fenris was managing to keep his resentment of Anders under control, she still felt uneasy about how Fenris was dealing with…well… with everything. After their early morning tiff, Hawke had thought that maybe Fenris would start to open up to her, and tell her how he was really feeling about becoming a father, but he never did. Instead, as she was getting dressed for the day, Fenris had fallen into an exhausted sleep on her bed. And now he was being suspiciously quiet, which was unsettling to say the least.

  Hawke’s thoughts soon turned from Fenris and his unspoken feelings about their unborn child, to what Anders had asked her earlier. She hated to admit it, but she was more than a little fearful about what may happen to her should the Knight-Commander discover that she was carrying a child. Her wealth and status in Kirkwall had protected her thus far from the templars arriving on her doorstep and remanding her to the Gallows, but would that all change once her condition was known? Would Knight-Commander Meredith see her unborn child as a possible threat to her authority over the mages of Kirkwall, causing her to re-evaluate her view of the apostate mage? Hawk, placing both hands over her stomach in a subconscious gesture of protection for the child she was carrying, moved closer to Fenris’ side in search of solace and comfort.

  Fenris feeling her movement, uncrossed his arms so that he could draw her closer to his side, effectively encircling her within the protective crook of his strong arm. “What is wrong, Hawke?”  Fenris could feel the tenseness in her body as she settled in closer against his side. He turned his head to look at her face and he thought he saw a shadow of fear lurking in the depths of her eyes. He searched her eyes and her face inquisitively for some clue as to what she was thinking.

  Hawke looked into Fenris’ concerned face; her own eyes searching the dark depths of his green eyes, trying decide how much she should reveal to him. How was she supposed to explain to Fenris, he who feared and distrusted magic and mages, the very real fears and concerns that she had about their child being born with magical abilities? Would he protect their child from the templars, or would he willingly give their offspring up to the templars… to the Circle? Fenris had been willing to kill his own sister for being what she was… would he turn on his child as well, simply for being born a mage?

  Panic began to creep back into Hawke, that same sort of panic that she had felt right after Anders had told her she was with child. Her mind began to swirl with an endless number of “ _what ifs_?” that only served to further her panic and unease. She couldn’t breath, she felt like she was about to be crushed by the sheer enormity of the situation she found herself in. She felt like her life was spinning completely out of control, her future unsure and no longer as secure as she had once thought it to be. _Just breathe… I can get through this... I just have to stay calm. Breathe…_ Hawke took a deep breath and then exhaled it slowly, forcing herself to control the panic that was trying to force its way outwards.

  Hawke dropped her eyes from Fenris’ searching gaze, and bowed her head slightly, trying to hide her panic from the elf, but unfortunately for her, Fenris was not about to allow that. He cupped her chin with his hand and gently, but firmly, forced her to raise her head once again until her eyes met his. Hawke felt as if her very soul was being laid bare beneath Fenris’ piercing gaze as he stared intently into her aquamarine eyes. Time seemed to move slowly for Hawke as she stared back at Fenris, her panic and fear showing clearly upon her face.

  Fenris removed his hand from Hawke’s chin and gathered her clasped hands into his own larger ones; her smaller hands felt icy in his warm grasp. He idly rubbed her hands with his strong fingers, trying to bring some semblance of warmth to them, and perhaps to comfort her in some small way. Fenris frowned thoughtfully as Hawke continued to remain silent and apparently unwilling to answer the question he had asked her.

  “What are you are afraid of, Hawke?” he asked her. “Tell me,” he insisted, the deep timbre of his voice was tinged with concern.

  Without further thought, without censuring her answer, Hawke blurted out her reply in a whispered voice, “You.”

  Fenris let go of Hawke’s hands as a stunned look crossed his face. He stared at the women he loved in utter shock, his mind wrestling with the fact that she had just stated that it was he- the one that she supposedly loved, the father of her unborn child- it was he that she was afraid of. Fenris wasn’t sure how she expected him to respond to such a revelation. He wasn’t sure _how_ to respond at all.

  Without thinking, Hawke had blurted out the truth of how she was feeling at this particular moment, and the shocked and wide-eyed expression she now wore was a clear testament to that fact. She stared at Fenris; his expression had become almost dispassionate once the initial shock had worn off, but Hawke could sense that she had hurt him deeply with her answer. She felt horrible. She watched in concern as Fenris abruptly stood up from the couch and walked away from her, towards the closed doorway of the room.

  “Fenris! Please don’t leave,” Hawke pleaded to him as she hurriedly stood up and frantically followed Fenris across the room. Her voice quivered with deep emotion as she struggled to hold back her tears. She couldn’t let him leave like this, not without having the chance to explain herself to him. “Let me explain myself, Fenris. Please?”

  Fenris suddenly stopped walking and turned around to face Hawke, who stopped walking almost in mid-stride, stumbling slightly, as she tried to prevent herself from crashing into Fenris. He reached a hand out and quickly grabbed onto her arm in order to steady her. Once Hawke had regained her footing, he let go of her arm and gave her a look of reproach. “You really ought to be more careful, Hawke. You are responsible for more than your own life, now.”

  “Don’t you think I realize that, Fenris?” she replied, almost shouting at him in her distress. She saw the muscles in Fenris’ cheeks tighten as he tightly clenched his jaw together in suppressed anger. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you, Fenris.”

  “I care not that you yelled,” said Fenris. “That is not why I am angry.”

  “I know, Fenris.” Hawke was well aware of why he was angry, and truthfully she could not blame him for his anger towards her.

  “Tell me, Hawke, have I ever given you a reason to fear me?” Fenris crossed his arms before him and waited for her response. He narrowed his eyes when she shook her head to signify that he had not. “Then explain to me what has changed.”

  Hawke once again felt his anger towards her, but this time she also sensed it was nothing but a cover for the hurt he was feeling. She felt his pain, and the fact that she was the source of it, cut her heart like a blade. Hawke took a deep breath and then began to speak softly. “It’s not that I am afraid of you, Fenris. I’m just fearful of what you may do if our child is born a mage, like me. Will you protect our child from the Templars and the Chantry?” She hesitated slightly and gave Fenris a searching look before speaking again. “Would you allow them to lock our child away in the Gallows, or some other Circle of Magi, Fenris?”

  Hawke observed Fenris’ face; first his expression registered disbelief, then surprise, and then finally, sadness mixed with… something else. It struck Hawke then that Fenris was looking at her in much the same way that he had looked at his sister, when he had found out that she had betrayed him to Danarius. The blade twisted deeper in her heart as he continued to stare at her, his eyes shimmering with pain.

  She began to panic again, but this time for a very different reason. _Maker I’m such a fool! How could I even think that Fenris would do such a thing? What have I just done?_ Hawke was devastated that she had not only allowed herself to even entertain such thoughts about Fenris, but that she had actually given voice to her doubts and fears without having any real basis for them. How could she have thought so little of him? How could she betray their love and trust like that?

  Fenris uncrossed his arms and opened his mouth to respond to what Hawke had just said, but he quickly closed it again when he saw the anguished expression on her face, and the tears that were brimming over in her eyes. His anger and hurt was quickly forgotten in his concern for Hawke’s welfare; Fenris reached out and pulled her into his strong embrace. He could feel the slight trembling of her body as her strong emotions took over, he tightened his hold on her further as he sought to comfort her.

  Hawke, her arms wrapped firmly around the elf’s waist, could feel the steady beating of his heart beneath her cheek as she rested her head against his chest. “Fenris… I am _so_ sorry! Please forgive me,” she said tearfully. “I haven’t been thinking clearly lately. I know you would never give our child up to the Circle.” And she did know that. Deep down she had always known that Fenris would never allow anything to happen to her or to their child, but she had allowed Anders’ concern and negative view of Fenris, and her own fears and doubts, to cloud her judgment and overshadow the real faith and trust she had in Fenris. She lifted her head and looked up at Fenris, who peering down at her, gave her a perplexed and slightly exasperated look from beneath an errant lock of his silver-white hair.

  “Hawke, have you not realized yet that there is nothing more important in my life than you?” Fenris stared deeply into her eyes for a moment and then with great sincerity he avowed, “Know this: I will protect you, and our child, until I breathe my very last breath in this Maker-forsaken world.”

  Hawke’s breath caught in her throat as Fenris continued to gaze at her in such a manner, that once again it felt like he was staring into the deepest crevices of her soul. She stared at him, mesmerized by the intense emotions that he felt for her, feelings that were written plainly across his face for her to see. The love she felt for Fenris was now so intense, so powerful, that it threatened to overwhelm her completely. Her heart thumped erratically in her chest as she struggled inwardly to contain her strong emotions- emotions that only he could cause her to experience.

  “Take a breath, Hawke. I am sure our child would like some air.” Fenris smiled at her and laughed softly, his voice deep and soothing.

  With a loud burst of air, Hawke exhaled the breath she had been holding unawares. She inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly, in an effort to normalize her breathing once again. The smile she gave Fenris was both loving and relieved in nature. Her mind now at ease- at least for the moment- she could now breathe easier and put her doubts about Fenris to rest. But she still felt horrible that she had put him through all this, and she still felt guilty for how she had been thinking and feeling. “I _am_ sorry, Fenris. I hope you believe me.”

  “Yes, I know you are sorry.” Fenris saw her look of uncertainty. He chuckled and said, “Yes, you are forgiven.”

  “That’s all you have to say?” Hawke gave him another dubious look. “After everything I have put you through this afternoon?” She was unconvinced that Fenris would- should- let her off so easily.

  Fenris arched a dark eyebrow at her as he looked at her. “What would you have me to say, Hawke?” He saw her shrug her shoulders. “Should I say that you will be the death of me? Because I am quite certain that you will. Should I say that you are the most head-strong, frustrating, and frequently infuriating mage- _woman_ \- that I have _ever_ met? Because believe me when I say, that you are indeed all those things, Hawke- those things and more. Would that make you feel better, Hawke, if I said all these things to you?”

  Hawke stared at Fenris silently for a few moments, not sure if she should feel insulted, angry, or what- but soon she began to laugh. How could she not laugh at that? She realized that she had never made things easy for Fenris, and he was only stating the truth. At least the truth as he saw it. Hawke was far from perfect and she was well aware of her short-comings- well most of them anyway- so she was able to laugh and not take herself too seriously.

  “By the Maker- I do love you, elf!” She gave Fenris a brilliant smile and another joyful laugh.

  “That is good to hear, mage-” replied Fenris with a smile, “Especially since you are having my child and all.”  Fenris smile faded and his expression turned serious. The woman he loved above all others was having his child. He was going to have something that he had never dared to dream of- or to hope for- a family of his own.

   “Fenris? Are you alright?” Hawke gave him a look of concern as she brushed back a stray lock of his hair away form his eyes.

  Fenris looked at her in wonder. “I never thought I would be able to have my own family, Hawke. Being a slave, it was never an option. But now…” He smiled once again at Hawke. “Because of you, I am going to have a family. Thank you, Hawke.”

  Hawke stared at Fenris, speechless, unable to express the deep and intense emotions that were buffeting her within. She began to sniffle as her eyes began to shimmer with unshed tears that threatened to overflow at any moment. She heard Fenris sigh in frustration. She knew he was having a hard time handling the very uncharacteristic way she now cried when her feelings became intense. She hoped it would stop soon.

  “Hawke, you are not going to start crying again, are you?” He saw her shake her head from side to side, as the tears began to stream down her face. He gave another sigh but then gave her a small smile. “Well, I guess you leave me with only one choice,” he said to crying mage.

 

  “I’m sorr-” Hawke’s tearful apology to Fenris was abruptly cut off when she found herself being kissed quite masterfully by the elf. She slid both her hands upwards and buried them into his hair at the back of his head, pulling his head down further, so that she could deepen their kiss. Her tears forgotten she gave in to the multitude of wonderful sensations that his passionate kisses was evoking throughout her entire body. She molded her soft curves against Fenris’ hard body, and she felt how aroused he had become. Maker, how she had missed him!

  As abruptly as he had started his kiss, Fenris ended it. He heard Hawke’s soft cry of dismay as he pulled away from her. Breathing heavily, he turned and walked towards the doorway, and once reaching it, he unlocked the door and pulled it open. He turned back towards Hawke and held a hand out to her. “Let us go Hawke,” he commanded roughly.

  Hawke looked at Fenris in confusion. “Go where?” she asked him as she crossed the room to where he was standing, an impatient look on his face. She placed her hand in his and asked, “Where are we going, Fenris?”

  “Upstairs… to finish what we have started,” replied Fenris, his voice deep and rough with desire. It had been weeks since they had been together, and he had waited long enough.

  Hawke’s heart skipped a beat under his smoldering gaze. She was having trouble breathing again and her thoughts were suddenly a jumble. She realized that Fenris was waiting for some sort of response from her, but she couldn’t seem to form any type of coherent sentence. So she simply nodded her head in agreement and smiled at him.

  Fenris lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly. He smiled as he felt her hand quiver in his. He knew exactly how he was affecting her, and it pleased him immensely. He then turned and exited the room, pulling Hawke along behind him. Bodahn greeted them both as they walked into the main living area.

  “Bodahn, why don’t you and Sandal take the rest of the day off,” said Hawke with a small smile. “Fenris and I will be… unavailable for the remainder of the day.”  She leaned over and gave Fenris a light kiss on his lips, a small sampling of what was to come. She smiled when she heard Fenris swear under his breath. He was so impatient!

  “Yes, Messere Hawke. I’ll make sure that you and Master Fenris are not disturbed.” The dwarf bowed to Hawke and Fenris and then watched as the mage and the elf walked hand-in-hand up the stairway. He turned to look at Sandal, who had walked over to stand next to him.

  “I like Fenris,” said Sandal gleefully.

  Bodahn chuckled and gave his son a quick squeeze on his shoulder. “Yes, my boy. And so does Messere Hawke. She likes him very, very much. Now let’s go make sure the front door is locked up tight, my boy.”

  “Enchantment!” yelled Sandal as he followed his father across the room, after giving one last look at the elf and the mage as they disappeared from his sight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

The door to her bedroom swung shut behind Hawke and Fenris with a soft thud.   Hawke walked farther into her room, as Fenris slid the bolt of the door’s lock forward until it clicked smoothly into place. Before moving away from the door he pulled on the knob, making sure that the lock was firmly in place and would effectively prohibit any unwelcome guests-meaning _Anders_ \- from entering the bedroom. Satisfied, Fenris strode down the short entryway, and into the main part of Hawke’s chambers.

  Hawk was standing in front of her full-length oval mirror that stood in one corner of the room, frowning at her reflection, when Fenris entered the bedroom. He stood back, just out of her line of sight, and watched her for a few moments. Fenris smiled when Hawke put her hands flat upon the nascent swell of her stomach, and then he heard her mumble under her breath something about, “going to be as big as Bronto”.

  “And I will still find you just as beautiful and desirable then, as I do now, Hawke.”

  Hawke turned around at the sound of Fenris’ voice, and gave him an unconvinced look. Of course it was easy for him to say that now, when she still had her figure somewhat intact, and she wasn’t all swollen and clumsy, looking like a beached whale in robes. Just wait until a few more months passed by- she was sure Fenris would change his way of thinking then. Hawke was not looking forward to the day when she was no longer able to see her own feet over the swell of her belly.

  Fenris gave a soft laugh when she remained silent and unconvinced of the truth of his words, but soon his thoughts turned to more urgent matters. He gave her a fleeting smile. “Come here, Hawke.” He gazed at her intently, his green eyes betraying the hunger he felt for her. He heard Hawke’s quick intake of breath, and saw the light irises of her eyes darken in her desire for him. His eyes never left hers as she moved to stand before him. Fenris noticed that she was still holding her breath. His green eyes glinted with humor when he said to her, “Breathe, Hawke.”

  Hawke let out her breath in a noisy rush of air. Vexed by this particular reaction to him, she thought aloud, “Holy Maker! Why can’t I _ever_ remember to breathe- or _think_ \- when he looks at me like that?” She gave Fenris a startled look when she heard him give a small chuckle at her expense. Hawke hadn’t meant to voice her thoughts out loud, but as usual, her brain wasn’t functioning correctly around the elf. Her heart was beating unevenly within her chest, and she struggled to maintain some normalcy of breathing; Hawke was fighting a losing battle.

  Anders had once told Hawke, that the darkspawn were driven –compelled- to answer the call of the Old Gods. That their mind, their very being was filled with only one single purpose, one single drive that was beyond all reasoning- to reach the Old Ones that called to them. She had never understood how they could be so out of control like that… how they could _be_ like that. Until she had met Fenris-then she understood completely. Her body, her mind, her very soul, was compelled to seek out the one thing that she desired above everything and everyone else - Fenris.

  And Fenris knew this. He had always been keenly aware of how he affected Hawke. He understood completely how she was feeling, for he felt the same way about her. For as long as he could remember, there had only been one all- consuming drive and desire, a single purpose, a need that filled his every waking thought and every nightly dream- to gain his freedom. But that desire, that need, that purpose, paled in comparison for how he now felt about Hawke. She had become his one and all-consuming desire and need. She had become his reason for living, she was his life.

  Fenris reached out a hand, grabbed Hawke by her waist and pulled her roughly against him. His body reacted instantly to the feel of her as he pressed her soft curves closer against him. He buried his hand in her unbound hair, and pulled her head back slightly, exposing the long line of her neck to him. He felt her shiver as he trailed heated kisses up along the side of her neck, stopping now and again, to gently nip at a sensitive spot with his teeth. He scraped his teeth lightly against the line of her jaw, and then nibbled the lobe of her ear, before he turned his attention to the other side of her neck. He felt her body tremble when his warm breathe, and then his lips, touched her soft skin.

  Hawke gave a soft sigh of delight, and she closed her eyes as Fenris continued to slowly brand her neck with his fiery kisses. She inhaled sharply in pleasure when the elf bit lightly down, and then sucked hard on a particular sensitive area of her neck. Her eyes flew open, and she dug her long nails into his back, as he branded her neck with his mark. Hawke deftly maneuvered her hands until they were buried in his hair; she suddenly yanked his head backwards, away from her neck, causing Fenris to take a quick breath in surprise. Hawke pulled his head forward again, and then she captured his mouth with her own, giving him an intense kiss that was full of longing and hunger.

  Fenris gave a low groan as he greedily accepted Hawke’s ardent kiss. He savored the feel of her supple lips as they moved against his, the sweet taste of her as he hungrily explored her mouth with his tongue, the immense thrill he received when he crushed his mouth against hers. The sense of urgency grew stronger in Fenris’ body as he continued to return Hawke’s kisses in an almost frenzied manner.  

  Hawke pressed herself up against the elf’s hard body, as she wrapped her arms about his neck. She rose on the balls of her bare feet, sliding her body upwards along his, and she deepened her kiss. Hawke felt the rising need of Fenris’ body through the cloth of her robes, and she fitted her aching lower body tightly against his thighs. She heard him groan low in response, and felt his hands, through the fabric of her garment, as they skimmed down the length of her back. Hawke suddenly wanted out of her robes. She needed to feel the touch of his hands on her bare skin.

  “Fenris…”

  Fenris felt her warm breath against his ear as she whispered his name. He heard the raw need in her voice, and he understood what it was that she wanted. Fenris was more than happy to oblige and remove the barrier of her clothing.

  Hawke sensed the sudden presence of magical energy in the air, and a thought crossed her mind. “Fenris, just don’t-” 

  Fenris’ lyrium markings glowed blue as he carefully rent the back of her robe from neck to waist with a loud sound of the splitting fabric.

  “-rip my robe.” Hawke stepped back from Fenris, and her destroyed robes slid down the length of her, landing in a pool of ruined fabric around her feet. She gave Fenris an exasperated sigh. “Fenris… next time try and remove my robes by undoing the buttons. That works just as well, you know…and it’s less expensive.”

  Fenris gave a low chuckle. “I will be sure and try to remember that for next time.”

  Hawke smiled at Fenris to show that he was forgiven, and stepped out of the ring of clothing, kicking the discarded robes to one side. At least the impatient elf had left her underclothes intact, Hawke thought with another smile. She was about to mention her gratefulness for this to Fenris, when she noticed the strange expression on his face. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Hawke, feeling unsure and a little uncomfortable, wrapped an arm around her stomach when she noticed that Fenris’ gaze was lingering on her midsection.

  Fenris reached out and pulled her arm away. “Do not, Hawke.” It was the first time since finding out about the baby, that Fenris had seen her unclothed. He placed a hand on the small, but noticeable, swell of her stomach. A look of wonder and then elation crossed his face. He studied Hawke’s face when she placed her smaller hand over his, and said, “I never thought it would be possible to ever love you, Hawke, more than I already did… but I was wrong.”

  Hawke, not trusting herself to speak as unshed tears welled within her eyes, raised her other hand and lovingly touched the side of his face. Unable to give voice to her feelings at the moment, she leaned in and gave Fenris a kiss, a kiss that was meant to convey the depths of the love she felt for him. Hawke, however, soon realized that a single kiss would not be an adequate way to sufficiently convey her feelings to him. She broke of her kiss, and stepping back from Fenris, she turned and headed towards her bed.

  Fenris watched the alluring sway of Hawke’s hips for a moment, and then he followed her to the bed. He had never wanted her as much as he did-right now- at this very moment in time. He desired more, than anything, the emotional connection and physical relief that only Hawke could give him… and he wanted to give it back to her in return. Fenris wanted-needed- to show Hawke just how much she meant to him.

  When Fenris reached the side of the large four-poster bed, he took Hawke into his arms and kissed her. He kissed her until their breathing became rough and ragged, and the beat of their hearts became louder and more than a little unsteady. Fenris kissed Hawke until he had the almost overwhelming urge to take her right then and there. His passion for Hawke had grown wild and intense, but Fenris fought against- what he felt- were the almost mindless compulsions of his baser needs, and reigned in his lust.

  Hawke, on the other hand, had no such qualms in giving in to her passion and baser needs and lust for Fenris. Her body craved his touch, and the pleasure he could give her, and she wasn’t about to restrict or reign in that craving. Nor was she about to let Fenris restrain his desire for her. Hawke loved it when Fenris gave in to his unrestrained lust for her. It both excited and humbled her.

  Hawke ran her hands down the hard muscles of his chest, and then down over his rippled abdomen, until she reached the ties of his sleepwear. With eager hands she undid the knotted ties at the front of his pants, and loosened them. She grabbed the fabric at both sides, and then tugged the pants down over his narrow hips and slim muscular thighs, until they fell to the floor in a heap around Fenris’ ankles.

  Fenris kicked away his unwanted pants, and was almost undone when Hawke’s hand brushed against his fullness. He growled low in his throat and grabbed her by her upper arms; he pulled Hawke to him and gave her an unrestrained kiss full of lust and need. Fenris inhaled sharply, and then almost moaned in ecstasy when Hawke touched him again. He felt a thrilling hotness spread through him, as the heat, emanating from her hand, surround him.

  “Maker above, Hawke…” he moaned. “What are you doing to me?”

  “Giving you pleasure, Fenris… with my _magic_.”  Hawke laughed softly when she heard him groan again. “Do you wish me to stop, elf? I wouldn’t want you to compromise your stand against… magic.”

  She tightened her hand around him, and intensified the heat that was flowing from her moving hand just enough to cause Fenris to moan aloud in pleasure once more. When Hawke sensed that the elf was on the verge of losing his control, she removed her hand. She slid both hands along his lyrium markings, a move that caused them both to feel that familiar tingle run through both their bodies as the magic within her reacted to the power of his tattoos.

  Hawke laughed again when Fenris picked her up abruptly, and tossed her onto the middle of her bed. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” teased Hawke as she lay reclined upon her bed. “And that you quite enjoy my _magical abilities_.”

  Fenris gave Hawke a half smile, and then joined her on the bed, positioning himself on his side, facing her as she lay there upon her back. The woman never failed to surprise him- and annoy him. But he wouldn’t have it any other way. He couldn’t imagine loving any other woman, than Hawke. “You are a woman unlike any other, Hawke. You are unlike any other mage,” he said. “I love you… magic and all.”

  Hawke smiled and turned onto her side, facing him. “I love you too.” She laughed again when Fenris rolled onto his back and then pulled her on top of him. She sat up, looked down into his handsome face and said, “Speaking of magic, there is another very _unique_ way of using my elemental magic… shall I show you what I can do with… electricity?”

  Fenris stared at her in surprised silence for a moment before trying to swallow the lump in his throat, which had suddenly gone dry. “Maker above…” he said with a small, low moan.

  Hawke felt Fenris’ unmistakable reaction to her proposal, as she sat straddled over his nude form. She gave a low, husky laugh and said, “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”


	10. Chapter 10

Hawke stood in front of the opened double doors of the large, wooden wardrobe that sat in the corner of her room, and wondered where the rest of her clothing had gone. She stuck her head in and looked into the dark recesses of the wardrobe for any garments that she may have missed. Finding no more clothing hidden in the corners, or on the back of the top shelf, she withdrew her head from the empty wardrobe and turned away in frustration. _Andraste’s ass! Now what am I supposed to do?_

Hawke, frowning, surveyed her room and realized that every single piece of clothing and armor she owned was now strewn carelessly about in numerous discarded piles of fabrics, leathers and metals. _By the Maker…I’ve tried on everything I own and I still can’t find something that fits right._ Hawke, with hands on her hips, sighed in loud frustration and continued to look over her discarded clothing. She came to the conclusion that she no longer had any clothing that would comfortably fit her expanded girth. She had recently reached the five month mark of her pregnancy, and Hawke knew that she would no longer be able to hide her pregnancy for much longer.

  Hawke, more than a little depressed by her realization, moved to her bed and sat down on its edge amidst the mounds of garments that she had been trying on. Hawke placed a hand over her rounded stomach, and looked over at her favorite set of armor with longing. She sighed once more, but this time in resignation. She would not be wearing any of her armor again; at least not until after she had given birth. However, her robes could be taken to a seamstress to be let out- at least until she grew too big even for that. Then she would be forced to purchase new clothing that would fit. _Or I could simply close myself up in my room, naked, until I gave birth_. _I’m sure Fenris would probably like that idea._ That thought brought a quick smile to her lips.

  “You do realize that the rather large wooden thing in the corner of your room was made to hold your clothing.”

  Hawke looked over at Anders as he entered her bedroom, and in a rather child-like gesture, she stuck her tongue out at him- which was more than a little out of character for her. But she was irritated and depressed, and she did not feel like sparring with Anders - verbally or otherwise.

  “I dare say I could find a much better use for your tongue, Cat.” Anders grinned and pushed aside a pile of her robes so that he could sit down on the bed beside her. When Hawke failed to give Anders the expected response to his intentional ribald suggestion, he gave Hawke a sideways inquiring look. “You are either finally succumbing to my dashing good-looks and obvious charms, or there is something that is bothering you, Hawke.” Anders chuckled when Hawke raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, usually after a suggestion such as that, I would have received some sort of physical retaliation from you… or at the very least an exasperated ‘Anders!’.” He put an arm around Hawke’s shoulders and leaned closer to her. “Tell me, Cat… what’s wrong?”

  Hawke looked at her friend with a glum expression and said, “I can’t fit into my armor anymore. Nothing I own fits right. How am I supposed to hide my condition from the damn bloody templars, and Knight-Commander Meredith now?”

  “Well, I suppose you could just have new armor made that would fit you…but I don’t think that would be a very good idea. Any armor you wore now, would only call more attention to…” Anders smiled and put a hand over her expanded belly. “…well, to _this_.”

  Hawke gave Anders a fleeting smile and then took in a deep breath, before exhaling it in a loud rush of air. “I guess I’ll just have to have a few of my robes adjusted and wear those. But that still doesn’t solve the main problem. In another month or so, everyone, including the templars, will find out the truth. No matter what I wear then, I won’t be able to disguise my condition any longer.”

  “Then maybe you should give further consideration about leaving Kirkwall. At least until after the child is born,” suggested Anders.

  Hawke shook her head, discarding his suggestion to leave. “We’ve already had this discussion. I am _not_ leaving my home, Anders. Besides, there are too many people in Kirkwall that rely on me for help. The _mages_ in Kirkwall need my help- need _our_ help, Anders. It wouldn’t be right for me to turn my back on them and just leave.”

  Anders sighed at her stubbornness to stay in Kirkwall, yet a bigger part of him was relieved that she planned on staying. Hawke was the closet thing that he had to family, and she was his closest friend. Over the past few years Anders had relied heavily on her help with the underground movement to free Kirkwall’s mages, and he knew he would need her help and support even more in the coming months ahead.

  But the problem was that Anders was now starting to feel more than a little guilty in continuing to accept her help, while she was in her present condition. By helping him and their fellow mages, Hawke was putting herself- and her unborn child- directly in harms way. But his need-his obsession- to free all mages from Chantry law, was greater than the love and concern he had for Hawke. And this fact was tearing him apart inside.

  “Anders? Are you alright?” asked Hawke. “You’re very quiet all of a sudden…” Hawke gently squeezed the hand that he had placed on her stomach, in an attempt to gain his attention again. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes…you’re staying. I did hear you.” He turned his face towards her. “But maybe it’s time for you to stop aiding these people.”

  “Stop? Why would I ever stop helping?” she asked with bemused frown.

  “Why? Because you cannot risk the health and welfare of you, or the child you carry, by continuing to put yourself in harms way,” Anders said, partly in an effort to ease his own feelings of guilt.

  “I know I’ll have to stop fighting for a few months right before the child is due, but after the child comes-”

  Anders cut her off. “You will be home taking care of the child. Or do you plan to fight with the babe at your breast? Unless you plan on hiring a wet-nurse to feed your babe and a servant to watch the child, your days will be spent at home taking care of your child.” Anders’, seeing the stubborn and defiant expression Hawke wore, added, “You have Fenris’ feelings to consider as well, Cat.”

  Hawke stared at Anders nonplussed for a moment before turning her head away from him. Anders’ words had taken her completely by surprise. She had never given much thought about what would happen once the child arrived. Her only concern up to now had been about hiding her pregnancy from everyone. Hawke rose from the bed and began to gather her clothes from off of the surrounding floor, all the while pondering Anders’ words.

  Anders, still seated, watched Hawke as she went around her room, picking up clothing and various pieces of armor, and then returning them to their original place of keeping. He stayed silent and gave her the time to sort things out in her mind. Soon Hawke walked over to him, and without speaking, he handed her the rest of her clothing that had been piled on the bed beside him. He hadn’t meant to upset her, but he didn’t think she still understood how much motherhood was going to change her life- or the way that she would live it from then on.

  Which was exactly what Hawke was thinking as she straightened up her room; that her life was never going to be the same again. And she didn’t know if she was ready for such a momentous change in her life. Hawke did not want to stop fighting for those who were too weak, or too scared, or who were simply unable to defend themselves. She had been given the opportunity to make a real difference in this small corner of the world and she wasn’t willing to put all that aside. _What am I going to do? How can I turn my back on those that still need my help? Maker above… what am I going to do?_

  Hawke finished putting her clothing away and then turned back towards Anders. He had a concerned look on his face, but she had no words to ease his mind. She had no answers. Not for him… not for herself. 

  But then a thought suddenly occurred to her… Anders had never explained his reason for his visit today. Hawke walked over to stand in front of him and then asked, “Anders? Was there a specific reason for your visit today?”

  Anders studied Hawke’s face for a moment before replying. He could tell that she was troubled by what he had said to her, but she seemed not to want to discuss her thoughts on the matter with him. Anders took that as a bad sign, but he decided not to pursue the matter for the moment. He smiled at her and asked, “I wanted to know if you’ve decided on which midwife to use for your delivery?”

  “I will not be using a midwife,” Hawke stated.

  Taken aback by her reply, Anders raised both his eyebrows brows at her in astonishment. “Cat- you can’t mean to deliver the child on your own? That is just foolish. I told you that every one of those women would be very discrete… I trust them completely.” Anders knew that Hawke was worried about the templars finding out about the birth of her child right away, so he had chosen each midwife very carefully. Each of the women in question were in complete support of mages and their right to live as free as anyone else, and they had often helped Anders out in the past with his work at the clinic, and with the mage underground movement.

  “Of course I don’t intend to deliver my child by myself, Anders… I want you to do it.” Hawke smiled at the surprise on his face. “You are a healer, Anders, after all. And I know you have delivered the children of other women before, so I don’t know why you seem so surprised that I should wish you to deliver mine.”

  Anders folded his arms across his chest and replied, “And what about Fenris?”

  “Fenris? Whatever in Thedas does he have to do with this?”

  Anders shook his head in amazement and wondered if her obtuseness was intentional. “ _Fenris_ is the father of this child. _Fenris_ thinks I am a walking abomination that should be made tranquil. _Fenris_ hates the fact that you and I are even friends, Cat… the elf will not allow me to deliver this child. Not ever.”

  “ _Fenris_ does not tell me what to do, Anders. He will have no choice but to allow it,” Hawke declared with stubbornness, crossing her arms in front of her. “Besides, Fenris is not as bad as you make him out to be, Anders. You’ll see… things will be fine.”

  Anders shook his head again and said, “You, Cat, have a blind spot when it comes to the elf. Mark my words… you are in for a major fight over this with Fenris.” Anders stood up and smiled at Hawke. “Just remember that I did warn you.”

  Hawke returned his smile and said, “Your warning is duly noted. So does this mean that you will do this for me?”

  Anders shrugged his shoulders and said, “Why not? The elf already dislikes me.” Anders took Hawke’s hand in his and pulled her to him for a hug. “I would do just about anything for you, Cat,” he said to Hawke in a soft voice, as she hugged him back.

  “Thank you, Anders,” Hawke said, happy that he had agreed to her request. She tightened her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. “I feel much better knowing that you will be there.”

  Breathing in the subtle fragrance of her hair, he closed his eyes and for one brief moment, Anders allowed himself to imagine what could have been… what should have been… if only that blasted elf hadn’t come into their lives.


	11. Chapter 11

Hawke listened intently to the distraught elf couple that stood before her. She had agreed to meet them here, in Darktown, after a note had been sent to her estate requesting her help. Hawke had come to the meeting place alone, but had informed Bodahn where she had gone, just in case.

  The abandoned mineshafts, now known as Darktown, was not a place that even the best well-armed individuals cared to frequent on a regular basis, for the slums were home to many of the nefarious criminal element that plagued Kirkwall. The abandoned tunnels had become a base of operations for those that participated in various types of shady commerce, from the slightly questionable to the most disreputable and illegal sorts of business transactions.

  It was also a place that the poorest and most desperate of Kirkwallers called home. These were the forgotten citizens of Kirkwall…the hopeless…the lost… the sick and the poor. And these were the very kind of people that Hawke endeavored to help the most.

  “Now tell me exactly when it was you saw your daughter last,” instructed Hawke. She looked at the light-haired female elf and asked kindly, “What was your daughter’s name?”

  “Tariel… and the last time we saw her was… when we tucked her in and… wished her good-night,” answered Gadrial with a small sob, “around the tenth hour of the evening…”

  Gadrial put her hands to her face and began to sob softly. Her husband put his arm around her shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “Messere Hawke… please help us find our little girl. She is only eleven years of age and all we have… we will gladly give you everything we own if you will only say that you will help us get her back.”

  Hawke had heard this story all too often in the past. The city elves were prime targets for slavers that sold the young elven males and females to the Tevinter Magisters to fuel their constant need for slaves and for the sacrifices needed to fuel their dark blood magic.

  “Dasrel, of course I will help. And it is not necessary to pay me,” replied Hawke, but then quickly added when she saw the male elf’s prideful look, “but I will gladly accept whatever coin you can afford.” She gave the elf a quick smile when she saw his obvious relief.

  “I have already learned from some of my contacts, that a ship is docked a few miles off the Wounded Coast, and that this ship is a slave ship bound for Tevinter. It has been there for three days now, so most likely it will only be there for another day or two, before sailing on to Tevinter to unload its cargo of slaves.”

  “But how will you be able to rescue Tariel, if she is already on the ship?” asked Gadriel tearfully. “She must be so scared...”

  “She won’t be on the ship yet. The slave traders will have Tariel, and whomever else they have abducted, sequestered in one of the caverns along the Wounded Coast. As long as the ship is docked well off the coastline, we have time,” Hawke informed the two elves. She gave them an understanding smile and said, “I know the waiting is hard… but have faith. I will do everything within my power to see your daughter home safe.”

  Dasrel held out his right hand to Hawke. “Thank you, Champion, for your help. May the Maker watch over you.”

  Hawke took his offered hand and shook it firmly. “May the Maker watch over us all.”

  After advising the parents not to speak to anyone about their daughter, and to wait for her to contact them again, Hawke took her leave and went to find Anders in his clinic. She was going to need help getting Tariel away from the slave traders, and she knew that Anders, as always, wouldn’t hesitate to fight by her side.

  Hawke navigated her way along the dirt and refuse covered passageways, trying her best not to breathe in too deeply the foul smelling chokedamp that rose in poisonous fumes from the sewers. More than a few of the inhabitants would nod to her or call out her name in greeting as she travelled. Hawke was well-known in the Undercity- the other name locals often used for Darktown - to both criminals and non-criminals alike.

  Before long, Hawke climbed the wide wooden steps to one of the upper levels where Anders’ clinic was located. Even though the two entryway doors were shut, the outside oil lamp was lit, signaling that Anders’ clinic was open for business. Hawke swung open the nearest door and stepped inside.

  Hawke immediately spotted Anders in the center of the busy large room. He was bent over the form of a young girl that was lying down on the examination table. The girl’s parents were hovering anxiously near the wide wooden table, watching Anders as he worked on their daughter. There were several other people, either sitting on chairs or standing about the room, that waiting patiently for their turn to see the healer. Some of the people waiting gave Hawk tentative smiles and others just nodded their heads in greeting, all of which she retuned.

  Anders looked up briefly and gave Hawke a quick smile of acknowledgement before returning his attention once again to his young patient.

  Hawke walked to the back of the room to the makeshift sleeping area that Anders used whenever he found himself too weary to return to his room at her estate. Hawke yawned and then lowered herself down upon the small cot to sit and wait for Anders. Before long however, Hawke's eye lids began to droop as she sat and watched Anders. For several moments Hawke fought against the pervasive feeling of tiredness that was laying claim to her body, but soon she gave in and closed her eyes and within moments she was fast asleep.

  “Cat. Cat… wake up.” Anders put his hand on Hawke’s shoulder and gently shook her.

  Anders’ voice slowly penetrated through the fog of her slumbering mind. Hawke felt a hand on her shoulder and opened her eyes. Anders’ face came into focus as she groggily blinked her eyes a few times.

  “Cat, I’m sorry I had to wake you, but you have a message.”  Anders, eye level to Hawke, sat back on his haunches and waited for her to rouse herself fully and sit up.

  “Anders- how long have I been sleeping?” she asked as she hastily sat upright on the cot. Hawke didn’t even remember falling asleep. She peered inquisitively into Anders’ face. “What message?”

  Anders smiled and standing up he handed her the note. “The answer to your first question is two hours… and I have just handed you the answer to your second question.”

  Hawke’s forehead furrowed slightly as she read the short note. “Andraste’s blazing ass!” she cursed. She glanced up at Anders, who was looking down at her in some alarm. “We’ve got to go _now_ ,” Hawke said, “the blasted ship is leaving _tonight_.” She had hoped that she would have had more time to plan her attack on the slavers. And to find the right cave.

  “Go _where_ now? What ship are you talking about, Cat?” asked the bemused Anders. He had no idea what Hawke was talking about.

  Hawke noticed that the clinic was now empty, save for her, Anders, and the stray cats he fed daily. “Where did everyone go? You finished healing all those people in two hours?” she asked him, amazed that he had finished his work in such a short period of time.

  “The little girl took the longest to heal for she had some internal injuries due to a fall. Everyone else just had minor injuries or problems,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Once I healed the last person, I closed the clinic for the rest of the day.” Anders gave her a probing look. “I assumed that by you showing up here, that you required my help for some task.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Am I right?”

  “Yes, you are.” Hawke studied Anders’ face for a moment. She noticed his disheveled appearance and the tired lines that were creasing his face. Hawke suddenly felt guilty for asking for his help, for it was obvious that he was worn out. “Anders, are you alright? You look tired… maybe you should sit this one out.”

  Anders smiled again and then reaching a hand down to Hawke, he pulled her to her feet. “I’m fine, Cat. Whatever trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, count me in. I could do with a bit of fun,” he said with a grin.

  “Why do you think it’s _my_ trouble?” she asked but then cut him off before he could answer. “Don’t answer that- I can see by your expression that you were about to say something highly irritating.”

  Anders just gave an amused chuckle and then asked, “So are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

  “We are going to rescue a young elven girl from slavers. I’ve just received word that the ship is going to leave for Tevinter tonight, so we have to go to the Wounded Coast now… before it’s too late.”

  Anders didn’t say anything for a moment. “You’re planning on having more than just the two of us go, aren’t you?” he finally asked.

  “Of course, Anders… I’m not a fool. I’m going to get Varric to come with us… and perhaps Aveline.”

  Anders shook his head when Hawke mentioned Aveline. “As much as it pains me to say this,” he said with a grimace, “you should have Fenris go with us- not Aveline.”  Anders sighed when Hawke adopted her usual defensive posture- crossed arms in front of her chest- which she always did whenever she was told something she did not want to listen to, or did not agree with. He reached out and placed a hand upon the top of her crossed arms and said in a quiet voice, “Cat, if you were my woman and were carrying my child, I would want to be by your side, helping to protect you. In fact I would _insist_ upon it.” Anders wasn’t altogether happy that he was taking Fenris’ side, but he was more concerned with Hawke’s welfare than with his aversion to helping the elf.

  Hawke gave a long sigh but she could see Anders’ point. She knew that Fenris would feel the same way. Yet just because she could see his side of things, didn’t mean that she liked it- or agreed with it. But Hawke couldn’t afford to waste time bickering over who would accompany her when lives were at stake. _Besides_ , she admitted to herself _, Fenris is better suited to deal with the slave traders, and he does have a particular hatred for them. Maybe killing a few slave traders will keep his mind off other things- namely me fighting._

  “Okay…you win. I need to go back to the mansion and change. Do me a favor and go to The Hanged Man and get Varric, then meet me at my home. I’ll get Fenris.”

  Hawke started to depart but then she stopped and turned back to regard Anders. He returned her look with an inquisitive one of his own, wondering why she had stopped.

  “Thank you for being such a good friend, Anders.” She gave him a grateful smile. “I know being friends with me hasn’t always been easy on you,” she said with a small self-deprecating laugh.

  Anders gave her a quick smile and then his expression turned serious. “Cat… I can honestly say that without your support and friendship these past six years, I wouldn’t have been able to stay sane.”

  “You will always have my support and friendship, Anders… always.”

  Anders gave her a poignant smile and replied, “Don’t be too quick to say that, Cat… you may someday live to regret it.”

  A troubled look flitted across Hawke’s face as she tried to fathom the meaning of Anders’ words.

  Anders, turning and walking away from Hawke to retrieve his staff, said over his shoulder to her, “Better get going, Hawke…”

  Hawke paused only a moment longer, and then she turned back towards the entryway and departed the clinic. The day was growing late, and she needed to hurry. Hawke knew that if she and the others didn’t reach the right cavern before nightfall, Tariel would be lost to them forever.


	12. Chapter 12

Hawke strode through the entryway to her estate and called out to Bodahn. When she entered the main living area, she saw the older dwarf standing by her desk, with a pile of letters in his hand.

  “Messere Hawke…” began Bodahn, but he was cut off by his somewhat out of breath mistress.

  “Not now, Bodahn,” she said, interrupting the dwarven manservant, thinking he was going to speak to her about the letters he held in his hands, “I need you to go fetch Fenris and bring him back to the estate.”

  “But Messere Hawke…” Bodahn’s words were once again cut off by Hawke.

  “Maker’s Breath, Bodahn- whatever you have to say can wait,” she said in exasperation, still trying to catch her breath. She had practically run the last several yards to her home and she was a bit winded due to the extra weight she was now carrying. Hawke stood in the center of the room with her hands on her hips, looking at Bodahn and wondering why the dwarf didn’t seem to understand that she needed Fenris here right away. “I need you to go get Fenris _now_ , please.”

  “There’s no need Hawke,” replied Fenris as he walked out of the study and into the main room, “I am here.”  He stopped when he got to Hawke’s side and said, “If you had allowed the dwarf to get more than two words out, he would have informed you that I have been here waiting for you for the past hour.”

  Hawke ignored his chiding tone and quickly replied, “I’m glad you here, we need-”

  “ _You_ need to stop talking and catch your breath, Hawke.” Fenris gave her a dark scowl when she began to speak again. “Stop talking and breathe- _now_ ,” he demanded in a low tone.

  Hawke refrained from speaking further and drew in a long breath and then exhaled slowly. She repeated the process, taking in deep breathes each time, until her breathing was back to normal once more. Hawke then gave Fenris an annoyed look. “You know, I’m not a bloody child that needs to be told when and how to breathe,” she complained with a frown.

  “Perhaps then, you should stop acting like one.”

  Hawke glared at Fenris. The armor clad, white haired elf stared back at her; his dark eyebrows rose subtly, and he crossed his arms before him. Hawke shot him another annoyed look and then looked away as she moved in the direction of the stairway that led to the mansion’s upper level. Fenris could feel her anger as she brushed past him on her way to the stairs. He turned and watched Hawke- her chin held high and spine straight and stiff as an iron rod- mount the steps and begin to climb. After a brief moment, Fenris sighed wearily and then followed her up the high stairway and into her bedroom.

  Once inside her chambers, Hawke made her way over to the large wardrobe and removed a heavy blue velvet robe, which had been enchanted to provide higher defense properties. Since the armor that she usually wore no longer fit her comfortably, Hawke had to make do with wearing robes that had been altered by a local seamstress to fit her new body shape. She had also made sure that the robes had been enchanted with various magical properties, since robes generally did not protect the body as well as most armor did.

  Fenris had entered the room right behind Hawke and was now standing in front of the lit fireplace, watching her as she moved about her room. Hawke glanced over at him as she tossed the velvet robe unto her bed.

  “Would you mind undoing my buttons, Fenris?” she asked, her voice betraying some of the resentment she still felt. She turned facing the bed, and presented her back to him.

  Fenris walked over to Hawke and stood behind her. He undid the single row of buttons at the neck of her garment and then pushed the loosened robe away from one of her shoulders, baring the skin. Fenris bowed his head and placed a single kiss on her bared shoulder. Hawke, letting go of the rest of her anger, leaned back against Fenris and gave a small sigh as the elf wrapped his arms around her.

  “Hawke…” said Fenris against her ear, his tone apologetic.

  “I know you are,” she replied with another small sigh, “as am I.” Hawke wondered if she and Fenris would ever be able to be together without being at constant odds with one another. It seemed that they disagreed over almost everything these days. And yet- the Maker only knew why- their relationship somehow worked.

  “So, are you going to tell me why you needed me?” he asked as he nuzzled her ear with his lips.

  Hawke shivered in pleasure as a tingly feeling shot down the length of her spine. Fenris blew gently into her ear; she suddenly lost her train of thought as more delightful sensations worked their way along her limbs.

  “Hawke…?”

  Hawke felt the playful rumble in his chest when Fenris chuckled in amusement. “Needed you….” She tried to gather her thoughts into a cohesive unit. “Yes. I needed you… because...” Hawke shivered again as Fenris nuzzled her ear once more. “Stop it Fenris,” she ordered him with a laugh. “I can’t think properly when you’re doing that.”

  Fenris chuckled again in response, removed his arms from about her and then gently pushed her away. “As you wish, Hawke.  Now change your clothes and then tell me why I am needed,” he said. Fenris leaned against the wooden post at the foot of her bed and waited for her to change.

  Hawke removed the garment she was wearing and then donned the blue velvet robe by sliding it over her head and down her body. She glanced over her shoulder to Fenris and asked him to button her up. As he was doing this, she began to tell him about her meeting with the elf couple and about their daughter, Tariel.

  “So, that is why I need you… to help me rescue the poor girl from the slave traders,” she finished explaining, “and the ship is due to depart tonight, so we must move quickly.” 

  Hawke noticed that Fenris- still standing behind her- had not said a word, nor made a movement, since he had finished with her buttons half-way through her relaying of the details. She turned around to face the silent elf. The expression on Fenris’ face told her that they were about to have an argument. _So much for the ‘he’ll be too happy at the chance to kill slavers to dwell on me fighting’ scenario…._

  “Fenris… before you start yelling just let me-”

  “No,” he stated tersely.

  “ _No_?” asked the bemused Hawke. “ _No_ to what? To you yelling… or to me trying to explain myself further?”

  “No- to you _going_ ,” he growled at her. “You promised me that you would stop fighting.”

  “Fenris… I never said that,” Hawke stated. “And stop scowling at me. What I _told_ you was that I would slow things down… eventually.”

  Fenris folded his arms across his chest and continued to regard Hawke with a dark expression, his green eyes narrowed at her in irritation. Fenris thought to himself that he had never known such a more stubborn- no, _obstinate-_ woman in all his life than the one that was standing before him.

  “Fenris,” she said in exasperation at the look he was giving her, “why must you be so bloody _stubborn_.”

  “Me?” enquired Fenris in astonishment. “You, Hawke, are the very picture of stubbornness and obstinacy personified,” he said with a subtle rising of one dark eyebrow.

  Hawke stared at the elf speechless for a brief moment and then said, “Well, then… we are perfectly matched for one another, are we not?”

  Fenris gave her a half smile that was slightly cynical in nature. “Now ‘perfect’ is aiming the bar rather high in this relationship of ours, do not you think?”

  Hawke’s soft laughter filled the room as she gave Fenris an impish grin. “Whatever was I thinking?” Hawke moved closer to him and laid her hands on his armored chest. “We are _completely_ unsuited for one another and could _never_ make each other happy. What a shame,” she continued with a feigned pout and a sad sigh, “I was just starting to like you.”

  “Since you are carrying my child, my love, I would dare say that is undeniable proof that you _more_ than ‘like’ me,” he replied with a glint of humor in his green eyes.

  “Indeed…I dare say it is,” she admitted with a smile before placing a brief soft kiss on his lips. “Now to get back to my original subject…”

  “No, Hawke…” said Fenris calmly, his expression neutral, “you are not going.”

  “The bloody hell I’m not,” returned Hawke through gritted teeth.

  “It will be over my dead body then.” Fenris was losing his patience and his temper.

  “I’d be happy to arrange that elf- if you’re serious,” Anders retorted with a quick grin as he entered Hawke’s bedroom.

  Fenris, frowning, turned around to view Anders and snapped, “It is customary to knock before barging into someone’s bedroom, _mage_.”

  “What barging? The door was wide open, elf,” replied Anders, coming to a stop several feet from where Fenris and Hawke stood looking at him. “Besides, I probably spend more time in Hawke’s bedroom than you do.”

  With a low snarl, Fenris went for Anders but was abruptly yanked to a stop when Hawke hastily grabbed the infuriated elf’s arm with both hands and pulled him back towards her.

  “Enough!” shouted Hawke as she stepped between Fenris and Anders. “There’s a scared young elf somewhere on the Wounded Coast that is about to be shipped off to the Tevinter Imperium as a slave. If the two of you don’t stop this bloody nonsense and help me rescue her, her parents will never see their daughter again.” Hawke glared angrily at Anders and then at Fenris. “And if that happens… I _promise-_ the both of you will pay dearly.”

  Anders and Fenris exchanged a quick hostile glance and then they both looked at Hawke. Hawke raised a hand to her head and rubbed her temple; she felt a headache coming on.

  “Are you okay, Cat?” asked Anders in concern as he scrutinized her face. His gaze slid from her face when she gave him an irritated look.

  “No. I am not alright. All this bickering has given me a bloody headache,” she replied curtly. “I don’t know why I ever took your advice about Fenris.”

  “And what advice might that be?” inquired Fenris in a chilly tone of voice as he walked up to Hawke. He stopped behind her and placing his hands on her tense shoulders, he looked over her head at Anders.

  “Low blow, Cat,” muttered Anders under his breath, “getting back at me for the bedroom comment by telling the elf I sided with him.” He shot Hawke a disgruntled look and then with great reluctance, answered Fenris’ question.

  Hawke stood there, rubbing her forehead, wishing she had kept her mouth shut. She knew that Fenris would not take kindly to the fact that she had decided at first not to involve him in this mission.

  At first, Fenris didn’t know how to feel about the whole matter. He was surprised and more than a little suspicious of Anders’ motives in convincing Hawke to take him along with them. He was unused to Anders taking his side on any matter. As for Hawke… he felt upset and hurt that she hadn’t intended to even tell him of her intention to rescue the elven girl. She hadn’t planned on including him on her mission at all.

  “You need to leave, mage,” said Fenris finally. “I wish to speak to Hawke alone.”

  Anders started to take offense at the fact that Fenris had ordered him to leave rather than asking him, but one glance at Hawke’s face told him that he would be far better off holding his tongue.

  “I’ll be downstairs waiting for you… should you need me,” he said looking at Hawke and ignoring Fenris. “Just don’t keep us all waiting too long.”

  “I’ll be down shortly,” replied Hawke. Then something occurred to her. “Wait- what do you mean by ‘us all’?” she asked questioning his choice of words. “I just asked you to get Varric, Anders.”

  “I mean that everyone is downstairs waiting; Varric, Merrill, Sebastian and Aveline. Merrill was at The Hanged Man talking to Varric, and when she heard what you were planning on doing, she asked to help and Varric agreed,” said Anders, “so blame Varric for inviting the blood mage- it wasn’t my idea.”

  “Listen to the abomination taking offense at the blood mage coming along…” injected Fenris. “But for once, mage, you and I are in agreement.”

  Hawke sighed in annoyance and shook her head. “Leave Merrill alone, you two… she has made a few bad choices, but she is no blood mage.” She looked at Anders and then asked, “And Sebastian and Aveline…?”

  “Varric, Merrill and I just happened to come across Chantry Boy on our way here. And of course, neither Varric nor Merrill can keep their mouths shut about anything, so when he heard what we were up to, he decided to come along,” Anders explained. “As for Aveline, she was already at your door when we arrived. There’s not much that goes on in Kirkwall that she doesn’t know about.”

  “I’m actually glad that they’re here,” admitted Hawke. “I suppose they all decided to come along to keep me out of trouble,” she said to Anders with a faint smile. Hawke couldn’t fault her friends for their concern or for wanting to keep her safe and she said as much to Anders.

  “Well, that’s what friends are for right? To watch your back and support you in all that you do,” quipped Anders with another grin, “no matter how foolish the endeavor or how low the odds of survival may be.” And with that, Anders excused himself from their presence, leaving Hawke and Fenris alone in the bedroom.

  Hawke could feel the stiff tension in Fenris’ body as he stood behind her with his hands still resting on her shoulders. But she sensed that he was more hurt than angry. She turned around and looked into his face, and searched his green eyes. She had been right. Fenris’ expressive eyes revealed his feelings of hurt.

  “Fenris… I’m sorry that I hurt you,” she said softly, still holding his gaze. “It was never my intention to hurt you. I just wanted to avoid another argument.  I knew you wouldn’t agree with my decision to help out Dasrel and Gadriel. But this is what I do… this is who I am… and carrying your child doesn’t change that fact.”

  Fenris continued to meet her eyes, but did not speak. Hawked regarded him for another minute longer, than turned away from him with a sigh when the elf still did not speak. She walked over to the weapon stand that stood in a corner of her room, and removed one of her staffs from its mount. With a heavy heart she turned from the armor stand and looked across the room at Fenris. Hawke tried one last time to get through to him.

  “Tariel is out there… scared and alone… missing her family…wondering if someone is going to save her.” Hawke put a hand protectively on the small swell of her midsection. “All I can think about is… what if it was our child?”  Hawke’s eyes glistened with unshed tears that threatened to overflow at any moment. “I promised her parents that I would do whatever it took to bring their child back to them, safe and unharmed. And that is what I am going to do, Fenris,” she stated in a quiet voice. “With or without your help.”

  Hawke wiped away the few stray tears that had escaped from her eyes and then without another word, she exited her bedroom. Half way to the stairway, Hawke realized there were tears streaming down her face. She stopped walking and hung her head low as a multitude of emotions swirled around inside of her. Walking away from Fenris like that, had been one of the hardest thing that she had ever had to do. Hawke stifled a sob and with a quiet desperation she tried to compose herself once again.

  Hawke’s head jerked up in surprise when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to face Fenris who was now standing at her side. “Fenris…” she said with a tearful hitch in her voice.

  Fenris wiped the tears from Hawke’s face with his thumb and then cupped her chin with his hand, tilting her head further upwards so that she was looking directly into his eyes. “I don’t want you to do this, Hawke… but I understand why you feel that you must.” He stared into her aquamarine eyes for a moment and then said, “I have always followed you wherever your path has taken you… even when I was not in agreement with you, and today is no exception. I will always be by your side, Hawke. _Always_.”

  Hawke smiled at him through her tears and stepped closer to him. She wrapped her arms around his middle and leaned her head upon his chest as they hugged. “Thank you for this, Fenris.”

  “Do not thank me yet, Hawke,” he replied with a cynical smile. “We have a hard fight ahead of us.”

  “We’ll be victorious, Fenris. We always are…we’re lucky like that. ” Hawke gave him another hug and then pulled away. She smiled at him again and then walked to the head of the stairway. “Coming?” At Fenris’ nod, she began to walk down the stairs.

  Fenris followed slowly, praying to the Maker that this would not be the day that their luck suddenly ran out.


	13. Chapter 13

Hawke shaded her eyes with her hand and looked out into the sea, searching the horizon carefully for the tell-tale masts of the Tevinter vessel. Her informant had assured her that the ship was still anchored off the Wounded Coast where it had remained for the past several days, waiting for its appointed time of departure. _By the Maker! Where is the bloody ship? My information couldn’t have been wrong, could it?_ Hawke paid good coin to have valid and useful information passed her way and her contacts had never let her down thus far.

  “Hawke- over there,” said Aveline gesturing with an outstretched arm. Hawke followed the Guard-Captain’s pointed finger with an inquisitive gaze. “That’s definitely a Tevinter ship, Hawke. It’s making way towards that small obscured cove on the other side of those scraggy cliffs.”

  Hawke dropped her hand from her eyes and turned to look at Aveline. “You were right. The slavers must be using those large connected caverns on the western side. They’ll use that concealed passageway that leads out to an exit near that small cove. At night, unless you know specifically where to look, you wouldn’t notice the ship moored there, or see the slavers as they load their cargo.”

  “I was certain that is where the Tevinter slavers were operating from,” stated the ginger-haired Captain. She then arched a brow at her friend and gave her an austere look. “And I am _never_ wrong, Hawke. I always check out my sources carefully.  I never take any information given to me at face value without first doing some investigating on my own.”

  Hawke ignored her friend’s slightly rebuking tone and simply nodded her head in agreement. She knew that Aveline thought her foolish for not checking out the validity of the elven couple’s claim before accepting their request for help. Aveline hated it when Hawke ran head-long onto danger without having a solid plan in place, and never failed to point out this perceived flaw of hers. Hawke would simply respond that she didn’t always have the luxury of devising a plan ahead of time and she often wouldn’t know what a situation would call for until she was in the midst of it. However, if some sort of plan was required she would simply devise one then and there.

  This type of attitude is what had led Aveline to ask Hawke earlier if she had some sort of plan in effect for today’s missive. The Guard-Captain hadn’t been pleased with Hawke’s response, which was that she simply had not had the necessary time to contrive one. Although having had dealt with their kind in the past, Hawke did informed Aveline that she had a pretty good idea of what they would be facing.

  After noting the lower position of the sun’s location in the sky, Hawke indicated to Aveline that they needed to continue on if they hoped to reach the slave trader’s base of operations before nightfall. Both women knew that as soon as the sun set, the Tevinter slavers would transport their illegal and unwilling human and elven cargo to their vessel, and once aboard ship there would be almost no hope of rescuing Tariel. Aveline gave a short nod of her head and moved to join the rest of their party members. The rest of their group were waiting patiently for them, by the side of the main road that wound its way through the wild beauty of the rocky cliffs that were part of the area known as the Wounded Coast. After one last glance back at the unfurled sails of the moving Tevinter ship, Hawke followed after Aveline.

  Hawke and her companions moved along at steady pace as they followed the winding dirt road that would take them higher and further into the cliffs that lined the coast. Fenris, Aveline, and Sebastian took the lead, while Varric and Anders brought up the rear, with Hawke and Merrill being regulated to the middle position of the group. Hawke noticed with mild amusement that whenever she tried to take the lead point, Fenris or another of her fellow party members would maneuver themselves so that she once again fell back to the center position. At any other time Hawke might have felt this to be a challenge to her authority and she would have responded with great ire, but considering her condition, she viewed this as nothing more than her friends way of showing their concern for her and her unborn child’s welfare.

  “So, how have you been feeling Hawke?” inquired Merrill in her soft lilting accent. The slender, dark-haired Dalish elf gave Hawke a shy smile as she walked alongside of her. “Or am I being too personal in asking that? I don’t want to be nosey. I just wish to know if you are feeling better. Now. Then before… when you were throwing up all the time…you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” Merrill ducked her head after giving Hawke another small smile and with long, slender fingers she began to pluck at a loose bit of material from her clothing in discomfort. The petite mage was always worried that she would say or do something to offend Hawke, for she looked up to the other mage and wanted nothing more than to have her respect and friendship.

  Hawke noticed Merrill’s discomfort and gave her a bright, friendly smile and responded in a manner that would hopefully put the elven mage at ease. “I am feeling much better now, thank the Maker. I appreciate your concern, Merrill. You needn’t feel that any question you ask me will be too personal.” Hawke grinned and winked at Merrill, then raising the volume of her voice she said, “You should hear some of the questions that Anders and Aveline often ask me. Those two have not a clue what the term “too personal” means. I’m sure your questions couldn’t possibly be as intrusive as the ones the two of them insist on asking.”

  Merrill began to snicker when Aveline shot Hawke an indignant look over her shoulder and then muttered that some people couldn’t tell the difference between being nosey and being concerned. Anders gave Hawke a wicked smile and then said that she hadn’t minded him being _too personal_ when he had let her in on his little secret on how a mage could use their elemental power of electricity in situations _other_ than combat.

  Merrill gave Fenris a startled look when he suddenly swore loudly in Arcanum. He started to unsheathe his long two-handed sword, but Aveline quickly grabbed Fenris by his forearm, effectively hindering him from drawing his long sword. When the perplexed Dalish mage glanced sideways at Hawke she saw that the other mage was blushing profusely despite shooting angry looks at Anders. Then with great vehemence, Hawke threatened to shove a bolt of electricity up his nether regions, which caused Merrill to wonder why Hawke had become so angry. Anders, fearing that he may have gone a bit too far with that last remark, wisely slowed down his pace and made sure that there was a safe distance between him and the incensed Hawke.

  Varric was trying desperately to contain his boisterous laughter but was doing a poor job of it. The golden-haired dwarf was only able to choke back his laughter when Hawke, turning to look back at him over her shoulder, hissed his name in irritation and gave him a dirty look. Both Aveline and Sebastian gave Anders looks of extreme displeasure as they tried to calm Fenris, who was looking angrier by the moment and more than a little embarrassed. The white-haired elf’s anger quickly diminished, however, when Hawke moved to his side and slid her arm about his waist. She gave the upset elf a comforting squeeze and then removed her arm. The tender look that the two of them exchanged caused Sebastian and Aveline to drop back several paces, therefore allowing Hawke and Fenris to share a few moments of privacy.

  Merrill’s gaze went from face to face as she tried to figure out why Anders’ remark had caused everyone to react in such different ways. She finally slowed down her gait and waited until Anders and Varric drew alongside of her. She turned to Varric and whispered, “Do you know what Anders was talking about?” Merrill was aware that Anders disliked and distrusted her because of her views on using blood magic, so she wasn’t about to ask him to explain his remark. Varric always seemed to be a fount of information, so she assumed the knowledgeable dwarf would most assuredly know what Anders had meant by his remark.

  “Daisy, I’m not sure you really want to know. Let’s just say that Fenris was more than pleased with Hawke when she showed him what she could do.” Varric gave the still ignorant Dalish elf a quick wink and then chuckled in good humor at her confused expression as he walked jauntily by her side.

  Merrill ambled along in silence as she tried to ascertain the meaning behind Varric’s reply to her question. Suddenly a vague memory floated across her mind of something that Isabel and Anders had been discussing sometime during the course of the past year… it had to do with a place in Ferelden that both Isabela and Anders had frequented in the past, before they had come to Kirkwall. Now what was the name of the place? For some strange reason the baffled elven mage kept seeing an image of an oyster. Merrill furrowed her brow in concentration as she tried to recall exactly what they had been talking about… and why she recalled that Hawke, at the time, had seemed flustered and had urged the both of them to stop talking. And then it came to her.

  Varric glanced over at Merrill when she made a weird choking noise. When Merrill turned to look at him, her eyes were as large and as round as two full moons.

  “Oooohhh…” she said as understanding finally dawned on her. Merrill took a quick look ahead at Hawke and Fenris as they walked close together, deep in conversation. When she looked back over at Varric she said in a mystified voice, “I would think Fenris would be more fearful than anything…”

  “I may regret asking this, but why do you say that?”

  “Well… you’ve seen how much power Hawke can generate… when she zapped that Coterie fellow with an electrical bolt a few days ago, _he_ certainly didn’t seem too pleased… and Hawke wasn’t nearly as angry at him as she often gets at Fenris.”

  Varric raised both brows and then shook his head at Merrill and her ingenious way of viewing things. “Daisy, I’m not sure it’s quite the same thing,” he said with a loud amused chuckle, “but don’t ever change.”

  Up in front, Fenris and Hawke were involved in a rather heated conversation about Anders. Although Hawke was far from pleased with Anders at the moment, she found herself once again defending him, which only served to incite Fenris’ dislike of the snarky mage even further.

  “Even now you defend that mage to me, Hawke. I don’t understand this… _hold_ he seems to have on you.” Fenris glanced sideways at Hawke and asked, “Why do you care so much for this…abomination.” Fenris noted the sudden stiffness in Hawke’s body at the word he had used to characterize the male mage.

  “Anders is _not_ an abomination, Fenris.”

  “That remains to be seen… but you still have not answered my question.”

  Hawke could sense his eyes upon her as they continued walking along the roadway, but she refused to return his gaze, and instead continued looking straight ahead at the rocky terrain.

  “Have you never wondered how I was able to get through those three years… after you had left me?” she asked Fenris softly, her voice still revealing the hurt his actions had caused her. “It was because of Anders... he was there for me when you were not. Even after I told him that I still loved you… would always love you… he was there. He has _always_ been there for me.”

  Fenris ran a gauntleted hand through the jagged strands of his white hair in frustration. He had never regretted anything more in his entire life, than how he had acted after he and Hawke had given themselves to each other on that night over three years ago. Yet he _hadn’t_ left her… not really… he _had_ been there, fighting by her side whenever she had need of him. But he knew that wasn’t what she had meant.

  “How many times must I apologize for what happened between us?”

  Hawke turned her head to look at Fenris. “I am not asking for another apology, Fenris. Once was enough,” she replied looking away again.

  “Then why do I feel that you still have not forgiven me, Hawke?” he asked with a slight scowl.

  “Fenris!” exclaimed Hawke with a short burst of exasperated laughter. She turned her face to him again and met his probing gaze. “I would think my growing womb would be proof enough of my forgivingness.”

  “Yet every time we revisit that period of time, I still see the pain in your eyes and hear the hurt in your voice.”

  Hawke heard the regret and sorrow in the deep timbre of his voice. She had forgiven Fenris for his past transgression, but as much as she tried she was still unable to entirely get past the hurt he had caused her. There were things that had happened in her life that had left an indelible stain on her soul… the deep sorrow and pain of grief and betrayal had left their lingering marks behind.

  “Fenris… some hurts… some betrayals… leave such a deep mark that it may be impossible to completely forget. I still feel the pain of my sister’s death… the pain of my mother’s death, even though one could argue that enough time has passed to dull the hurt. Yet for me, the pain is still as fresh as the day when I first experienced it.”

  Fenris, pondering her words, remained silent for several long moments before speaking again. “You speak of betrayals…”  He gave Hawke a thoughtful look. “You will not forgive either of them?”

“No.” Hawke turned her face away from Fenris and walked on in silence, trying to subdue the hurt and anger that was rising within her.

“Isabela I somewhat understand…”  Isabela, after gaining Hawke’s trust and help, had stolen the Qunari’s most sacred book and then had left her supposed friend behind to deal with the Arishok and the Qunari. He knew that betrayal had fostered much hate in Hawke for the Revanie. “But unlike Isabela, what your brother did was not a betrayal, Hawke.” Fenris almost visibly flinched when Hawke suddenly stopped walking and turned on him in outrage.

“How can you say that?” she hissed at him in anger. “Carver joined the bloody Templar Order! He’s a _templar_ , Fenris! He has become the very thing that stands for the subjugation of all mages. I have spent my whole life running from templars… my parents sacrificed _everything_ so that Bethany and I could live our lives free from the rule of the templars and the Circle. And Carver knew this!”

  Each time Hawke spat out the word templar, she forcefully jabbed the flabbergasted elf in his chest with her index finger, causing Fenris some concern that she may damage her finger on his hard armor in the process.

  “Calm down, Hawke.” Fenris grabbed her hand and moved it away from his breastplate. Hawke tried to pull her hand from his grasp but he would not allow her to.

  “Let- my- hand- go,” she ordered him in a low furious voice, slowly enunciating each word. “And stop telling me what to do, elf!” Hawke tried again to pull her hand away from his strong grip.

  “I am not releasing your hand until you calm yourself,” stated Fenris. He ignored the glaring look of ire that she shot his way, and simply raised a single dark eyebrow at her.

  By now the rest of their party had stopped walking and were standing several yards behind Hawke and Fenris, watching the scene as it unfolded. Both Merrill and Sebastian quietly suggested that someone ought to intervene before things got out of hand, but Varric and Aveline insisted that any intervention on their part would only make things worse. Anders then remarked with a delighted grin that if he knew Hawke, Fenris was about to reminded that one should never mess with a mage- especially an angry one. Sebastian frowned at Anders when he noticed how pleased the mage appeared to be with Hawke’s anger at Fenris.

  “We are wasting time here,” said Fenris impatiently. If he had known that Hawke would have gotten so upset, he would have never said anything. “We can discuss this all later… in private.” He had noticed that everyone else had also stopped walking and were now gathered a few yards behind them, waiting for the two of them to finish their discussion so that they could continue on.

  “I’m warning you, Fenris… let go of my hand. _Now_.”

  “No. Not until you-”

  “Too late,” Hawke replied between clenched teeth, interrupting him in mid- sentence.

  Fenris yelled out in surprise and then pain from the small charge of electricity that suddenly emanated outwards from the hand that Hawke had ordered him to release. Fenris quickly let go of her hand with a loud curse and stared at Hawke in astonishment for a full minute. When Hawke failed to immediately apologize for her actions, his face became cold and detached. Fenris was furious with Hawke for what she had just done, but years of being a slave had taught him how to effectively hide all traces of emotions.

  “Well she did warn him,” Anders remarked, loud enough for Fenris to overhear.

  Fenris turned his head towards Anders and gave him a long measured look of disdain before signaling to the rest of the party that it was time to move on. He moved away from Hawke without a word and with only the barest hint of a glance in her direction.

  Aveline stopped scanning the surrounding area long enough to give Anders an aggravated look before following after Fenris. Her patience was starting to run thin when it came to Anders and his inflammatory remarks, and she was tired of all the interruptions. She just wanted to reach the slave traders lair, rescue the elven girl and then go home to Donnic.

  “Blondie… unless you want the elf to start glowing blue, you might want to keep those remarks to yourself,” suggested Varric wryly. Unlike the Coterie, the promise of gold coin would not dissuade Fenris from doing harm to Anders, so the dwarf felt it prudent to urge the mage to watch his tongue. He repositioned Bianca on his shoulder and then after beckoning to Sebastian and Merrill with a movement of his head, the three of them walked off. Sebastian reached out and gave Hawke’s shoulder a quick squeeze as they passed by her. She gave him a fleeting smile and nodded to Varric and Merrill, but did not follow after the three. She waited until Anders reached her side, and only then did she resume walking.

  “I’ve never used my magic against Fenris before… I swore to myself that I never would,” said Hawke, breaking her silence after they had been walking along the road for a while.

  “If you ask me, the elf deserved it. And it’s not like you lost control, Cat.”  He glanced over at Hawke when she didn’t respond to his words. “Stop fretting so… there are more important things to worry about than the elf’s hurt feelings. After we rescue Tariel you can apologize all you want, but for now just let it go.”

  “You know, this is partly your fault. If you hadn’t said what you did, I wouldn’t have had to defend you to Fenris- _again_.”

  “So I am to be lambasted for saying the truth? Maybe the elf should stop being so blasted sensitive about everything.”

  “You know Anders… I never swore to myself not to use my magic on _you_.” Hawke waited for her thinly veiled threat sink in and then said matter-of-factly, “So perhaps in the future you should take greater care in what you say about me and Fenris.”

  Anders may have been many things, but he was not a fool. “Point taken,” was his laconic response.

  “Good,” responded Hawke with a small, thin smile. “Now that we have reached an understanding between us, let’s catch up with the others. The entrance to the slave trader’s base should be right around here somewhere.”

  Hawke looked up into the sky and noted the sun’s position with slight alarm. The sun was much lower than it had been. Time was running out for them. Hawke and Anders quickened their pace and set their mind on the task before them. The only thing that mattered now was saving Tariel.


	14. Chapter 14

The rough-hewn rock walls of the large cavern felt damp and slimy to Hawke’s touch when her hand brushed against it as she walked down the rickety wooden stairway that would lead her and her party deeper into the heart of the cavern. Sounds of slowly dripping water and the faint scurrying of rodents echoed around the small group as they cautiously descended lower into the midst of the dimly lighted cavern.

  The stairway led Hawke and her companions to a large antechamber that was connected to a larger cavern by a narrow passageway. Upon entering the chamber, Aveline scrutinized her surroundings, taking quick note of the scattered refuse that had been left behind by the slavers: A broken hilt of a steel sword had been thrown carelessly aside and was now resting by a cracked wooden shield; a tattered and torn pair of pants rested atop a clump of Spindleweed; part of a leather whip had also been left behind; and there also, dumped face down beside a small stagnant pool of water, was the rotting remains of a dead body.

  Upon seeing the corpse, Anders decided to examine the body more thoroughly. He knelt down and rolled the body over for a better look. He took a quick perusal and then stood back up, looking over at Hawke. “It’s a man… a raider by the looks of him. Or maybe a mercenary- either way, there’s one less cretin in this world for us to deal with.”

  “Anything useful on his body?” asked Hawke. When she had first arrived in Kirkwall, she had learned quickly that one way to survive and put food on the table was to raid corpses for gold and items to sell. Old habits die hard.

  “Be my guest,” replied Anders with a slight grimace and a wave of his hand towards the decomposing body.

  Stepping closer, Hawke caught a sudden whiff of the dead man’s odor and her stomach rolled tightly in complaint. She shook her head and moved away, giving the decaying corpse a wide berth. Merrill noticed her paleness of face and asked if she was feeling unwell. Hawke gave her a quick smile and assured the concerned Dalish elf that she would be fine in a moment or two.

  Now a safe distance away from the malodorous scent, Hawke observed that Sebastian was now standing next to the dead man, his head bowed in silent prayer. Hawke shook her head. Sebastian was the only person she knew who would care about the soul of a dead criminal. In the past, she had often witnessed him praying for the souls of the very same people that he had just sent to the Maker, killed by a deadly shot of his arrow. When Sebastian lifted his head again, he turned to see that Hawke was watching him with a faint smile.

  “Do I amuse you Hawke?” inquired Sebastian as he turned around to face her.

  “More fascinate me than amuse,” Hawke clarified, wondering if she had offended him. She hoped not, for that had not been her intention at all. She admired the man, even though she felt he followed the Chantry and its teachings a little too blindly.

  Sebastian smiled and inclined his head. “Coming from you, that is surely a compliment.”

  “If everyone is finished looking for loose coins and praying for the dead,” said Fenris impatiently with a brief glance towards Hawke, “perhaps we can dispense with all the useless chatter and move on.”

  Hawke bristled slightly at the tone he took but refrained from showing her displeasure. Instead she pulled her staff from its holding place and moved to the opening of the narrow passageway with the intention of entering first. However, before she could enter the passage, Fenris stepped in front of her, blocking her way.

  “You are not going in first, Hawke. Aveline, Sebastian and I will lead the way. You will stay behind us at all times. Is that understood?”

  Fenris unsheathed his long, two-handed sword while he waited for Hawke to answer. Hawke had two choices as she saw it: she could disagree and refuse to listen to him, which would only start a major argument and waste precious time, or she could agree now and then once they found the slave traders, do things her own way. She decided on the latter choice.

  “Fine. But take Anders with the three of you. Since you refuse to let me take the lead with you, Anders should go. You may have need of his healing and his other abilities.”

  Fenris nodded his head curtly and then signaled to Aveline and Sebastian to move out with him. Both readied their weapons and then followed Fenris into the tight passageway. Hawke turned to Anders and motioned her head towards the opening of the passage. Anders sighed heavily but followed after the two warriors and archer. He understood Hawke’s reasoning, but he wasn’t happy about being stuck with- as he put it- the broody elf, the bossy Guard-Captain and the brainwashed Chantry brother. But nevertheless, Anders hurried after the three and soon he disappeared into the darkened passage as well.

  “Well Hawke, I guess that just leaves me and Daisy here to make sure that you stay out of trouble,” said Varric with a wide smile.

  “Don’t forget Bianca,” Merrill reminded the dwarf. She giggled softly. “She might get jealous that you didn’t include her.”

  Varric rubbed his faithful crossbow fondly and grinned. “Oh, she knows she’s my only real love. Don’t you, Bianca?” the dwarf asked with another soft pat to the side of the crossbow. He hoisted Bianca onto one broad shoulder and then said, “After you, Hawke.”

  As Hawke moved into the passageway she noticed the remains of a large, sticky white spider’s web that was clinging to one side of the wall. _Ugh, spiders! I hate spiders!_ She suddenly was thankful that she hadn’t gone first. _Maker- they smell even worse when dead!_ Hawke grimaced and tried to stifle an involuntary shudder. Varric, noticing the shudder, glanced at the web and grinned to himself. He knew how much Hawke disliked spiders. He had to stifle a laugh at Hawke’s expression, when a dead carcass of a rather large black cave spider came into view. She grimaced and closely hugged the side of the wall with her body, as she tried to refrain from coming into contact with any part of the dead spider when she passed by. __

Before long the dwarf and the two mages reached the end of the passageway. Hawke, still keeping a careful watch for spiders, stepped out onto the small wooden platform which was connected to a short staircase that once again led downwards. Hawke peered down and saw that Fenris and those with him were waiting at the bottom of the steps. She motioned to Varric and Merrill to follow her down the stairwell. The wooden steps creaked and groaned under the weight of Hawke, Merrill and Varric. Hawke slowed her descent, hoping that the well-worn stairs would make less of a noise. Soon the three reached the bottom of the steps and then went to join the rest of their companions.

  “We scouted ahead and found the slavers, Hawke.” Aveline motioned her head in the direction they had just been. “They are held up, maybe seventy feet from here, just around that bend over there.”

  “How many are there?” asked Hawke in a hushed voice. Even the slightest sounds tended to echo and travel far within such immense caverns such as the one they were in. Hawke did not want the slavers to be aware of their presence until they had formulated their strategy.

  “We counted at least fifteen men,” replied Fenris. “There are two men standing guard at the other end of this cavern, and another two sentries are over by that bend. There were four standing around a fire and the rest were standing guard by their cargo.”

  “Living cargo?” asked Hawke. She frowned when he shook his head no. That meant they had their captives held somewhere else. Hawke directed her next question to Aveline. “Did you see anywhere else in there, another level or some type of structure perhaps, where they could be holding their captives?”

  “There was another set of stairs in the middle of the cavern. I didn’t see where it led, though.” Aveline turned to Sebastian and Anders. “Did you two notice anything else?”

  “There was another level… sort of a wide ledge near that other stairway. I noticed it only because I thought it would be the perfect vantage point for an archer to make use of,” replied Sebastian.

  Not knowing exactly where Tariel was being held would make their job of rescuing her slightly more difficult, but Hawke took this bit of unwelcome information in stride. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she thought of the best way to take on the slave traders. She favored a straight-forward direct assault, but she needed to make sure that none of the slavers’ unwilling guests were injured in the process. Or any of her companions, for that matter.

  While Hawke was deciding on the best course of action, the rest of the party readied themselves for battle. Anders and Merrill re-checked their packs, making sure that the healing potions and vials of mana were easily accessible to them. It was then that Anders noticed that Hawke was not wearing her usual pack.

  “Hawke? Where is your small pack?”

  His question to her drew Fenris’ immediate attention. Fenris turned towards Hawke, his intent gaze searching her form.

  “Right where it always is,” responded Hawke, annoyed that her thinking had been interrupted by such an inane question. Her hand went to the girdle on her waist, feeling for the spot where her small pack should have been attached to. Hawke looked down at her waist and cursed herself under her breath. She had been so busy arguing with Fenris back in her chambers that she had forgotten to retrieve it when she had picked up her staff. “It would seem that I left it in my room.”

  Anders began to remove his own pack, intending to give it to Hawke. She noticed what he was doing, and shook her head at him.

  “No, Anders. You keep your pack. Should someone get injured or fall in battle, they will need you to heal them. I can’t afford for you to run out of mana or healing potions. You’re the healer here, not I or Merrill.”

  Anders looked as if he wanted to say something further on the matter, but he knew Hawke well enough to know that it would do no good to argue, so he reattached his pack to his girdle and held his peace. Fenris, however, was not of a like mind.

  “Out of the three mages before me, the only one I care about keeping safe is you Hawke. If the blood mage and the abomination fall in battle, so be it. However, you cannot. Unless you take every precaution there is to keep you and our child from harm, I will _not_ allow you to fight.”

  Hawke’s immediate reaction was to lash out at in Fenris in anger and put him in place, but she understood that he was merely concerned for her safety and that of their unborn child, so she responded with dispassionateness.

  “We’ve already had this argument, Fenris… and correct me if I am wrong, but didn’t you already agree to stand by my side, _no matter what_?”  She could tell by his indignant expression that Fenris did not like the fact that she had used his own words against him, but when she heard his heavy sigh of resignation, she knew that the matter had been finally laid to rest.

  By this time, Hawke had decided on their course of action. Her main objective was to locate Tariel and the other captives as quickly as possible, but in order to do that she and her companions would first have to subdue any threat from the slavers. She turned to Merrill.

  “You and I will need to get off an Area of Destruction spell as soon as we get into range. That should make it easier for Fenris and Aveline to surge forward and do what they do best.”  Hawke noticed that Merrill appeared a bit uneasy. “You will do fine, Merrill. I have faith in you and your abilities.”

  “Just try not to hit anyone on our side again,” muttered Anders. He shrugged his shoulders when Hawke glared at him. “What? I’m just trying to be helpful.”

  “You just make sure that Fenris and Aveline stay safe, Anders. I’ll make sure that the both of them – and everyone else- are enclosed within an Arcane Shield, but you’ll need to heal them when needed and bolster their health energies when required.”

  Hawke gave a few minor instructions to Varric and Sebastian, although she never really worried about those two. They knew how to handle their weapons and they always found the best vantage points for their respective combat styles. And as far as Aveline and Fenris went, Hawke knew enough to let them fight in their own way; they were both seasoned warriors after all.

  At Hawke’s nod, they all began to move forward, heading to where the slave traders were encamped. When the party reached the bend, they all stopped and prepared themselves once last time for the battle. Swords were gripped tighter in steady hands; deep breathes were taken to calm nerves; silent prayers to the Maker were said for safety and victory.

  “Na via lerno victoria,” Fenris said quietly. _Only the living know victory_.

  Hawke’s eyes met his and she returned the intense gaze of those mesmerizing green eyes that she loved so dearly. “Na via lerno amor,” she whispered softly. _Only the living know love_.

  Hawke pulled her gaze away from Fenris and one by one, scanned the faces of the rest of her companions. They were ready. Hawke caught Merrill’s eye and she nodded.

  The two mages moved forward again and rounding the bend, the slavers’ encampment came into view. Hawke immediately surrounded herself and each companion with a glimmering Arcane Shield. She raised her arms and calling on the powerful magic within her, she unleashed a storm of fire upon the slave traders before they could react to their presence.  Next to her, Merrill sent out a tempest of electricity bolts that quickly went through slaver upon slaver and caused major damage to the unwary Tevinter slave traders.

  With a flash of blue, Fenris charged into the midst of the chaos that Hawke and Merrill had just caused. Hawke heard screams of rage and pain as Fenris’ steel greatsword mercilessly cut through each slaver that tried to make his or her way past the lyrium tattooed elf. Aveline, her shield and blade before her, methodically pummeled and slashed her way through the encampment, leaving a line of dead bodies in her wake.

  Hawke was busy defending herself from two rogue slavers that had appeared suddenly before her. She froze one solid with a blast of frigid air and then used the bladed end of her staff to slice and stab at the other. Her protective shield was holding thus far, but the strain of keeping everyone else shielded at the same time was taking a toll. She felt a quick rush of relief when the rogue before her abruptly dropped dead, pierced through his heart by one of Sebastian’s sharp arrows.

  The sounds of combat reverberated loudly in the enormous cavern. Hawke shook her head when she heard the constant death count from Varric, and Anders all too familiar phrases about not messing with a mage and sucking on a fireball. _Honestly- if the two of them talked less while fighting, they might actually do more damage!_

“Varric! Less talking and more Bianca,” Hawke yelled out to the dwarf. She had noticed that Fenris was surrounded again. She aimed her staff and sent out a surge of energy that hit one of the slavers center-chest. “Loose your bolts over there, Varric!” She fired another energy bolt and Varric followed suit with a volley of arrows that landed squarely on the slavers that had surrounded Fenris.

  “Well… I’ve lost count, I’ve killed so many.” Varric grinned at Hawke. “How many have you got, Hawke?” He set another bolt into Bianca and headed towards her.

  “You know I don’t keep score, Varric.” Hawke gave a small chuckle as she speedily assessed the combat situation around her. “Come on, it looks like the others have everything under control, so you and I are going to climb that stairway over there and see if we can find Tariel.”

  Hawke made her way to the foot of the stairway, stepping over more than a few dead bodies in the process. When she reached the wooden stairs, she quickly climbed them until she reached a broad ledge. She paused for a moment, listening intently for any signs of movement, but the only thing she heard was Varric’s footsteps on the steps behind her. Hawke moved forward with caution, her eyes searching the dimly lighted area for any signs of the captives. She moved ahead several more feet, but then stopped abruptly when she heard the terrified cry of a young girl coming from within a small, dilapidated structure that had come into view.

  “Tariel? Are you in there? Are you injured?” Hawke’s shoulders sagged in relief when the young elven girl responded that she was and that she was unharmed. “My name is Hawke… your parents sent me to find you. Hold on and I’ll get you out of there.”

  Hawke slid her staff back into its holder on her back and then collapsed her protective shield. She called out over her shoulder to Varric that she had found Tariel, and without waiting for Varric, she hastened towards the structure.

  Hawke heard Varric’s cry of warning too late to avoid the hidden tripwire. There was a deafening roaring sound and a sudden burst of blistering heat as the rigged barrels exploded. Hawke felt herself being hurtled backwards several feet with such a tremendous force that she slammed right into the hard, unforgiving side of the cavern wall. She felt a moment of intense pain as her body made contact with the stone wall and then everything went black.


	15. Chapter 15

Hawke struggled against the heavy blackness that was weighting her down. She heard her name being called, entreating her to fight her way through the thick fog of dull pain that surrounded her mind. She felt the touch of a gentle hand upon her brow; comforting warmth spread through her head and the worst of the throbbing pain began to ebb. With an iron determination, she banished the mind-numbing fog and darkness that clawed at her mind, and her eyes slowly fluttered open.

  “Hawke… thank the Maker! Now don’t try to move just yet.”  Anders put his hands on her shoulders and pressed down, trying to keep her stationary. He eased the pressure of his hands when Hawke ceased her struggle to sit up. His concerned gaze met her dazed one. “Can you tell me where it hurts the most?”

  “Everywhere…” she whispered. She winced and groaned when her attempt to move a limb resulted in severe pain. Even the simple act of frowning- when she tried to remember what had happened- caused her pain. Hawke decided that it was in her best interest not to move at all, just yet.

   She remembered the explosion from the trap she had inadvertently set off and a sudden sensation of weightlessness when the sudden force of the explosion catapulted her body backwards through the air…but the rest was a bit unclear. Hawke willed herself to remember… _Andraste’s ass! I hit a bloody wall! Well, that is a first._ Hawke sincerely hoped that Fenris did not see what had just happened. She was in enough hot water with him after their earlier altercation, and this might quite possible push him over the edge.

  Hawke gingerly turned her aching head to one side when she heard the sudden running cadence of numerous booted feet barreling up the wooden staircase to her left. Within moments the rest of her companions, led by Fenris- who managed to look both panicked and angry at the same time- reached the spot where she was lying.

  Fenris’ heart lurched painfully in his chest when he saw Anders bent over the motionless form of Hawke. In an instant he took in the singed condition of her robe and the angry red burn marks on her hands and legs. Anders was blocking his view of her face and for one anguished and unbearable moment, Fenris thought that he had lost her. His life, and the Maker forsaken world he lived in, suddenly lost all its luster and meaning.

  And then Anders moved.

  “Fenris…?” Hawke, struggling to draw a breath, whispered his name and with some difficulty stretched out an unsteady hand to him.

  Fenris’ heart began beating once more and an intense rush of relief coursed through his body. He silently thanked the Maker as he sank to his knees by Hawke’s side and took her offered hand into his careful grasp. His relief became short-lived, however, when he noticed her laborious struggle to breath and how pale her face had become.

  “Why have you not healed her, mage?” he asked Anders with a low angry snarl. Fenris’ green eyes blazed with a fervent intensity as he fought back the urge to throttle the damnable mage. “If she dies… today will be the last sunset you will ever live to see.”

  For a brief moment Anders’ eyes glowed with an unnatural light, his eyes locked in a silent, hostile battle with Fenris. One day he and the elf would settle things for the last time, but today was not that day. Hawke needed him. She needed them both. Anders subdued the vengeful fury that was his constant companion. “My death may come soon enough, elf… but it will not be today and it will not be by your hand.”

  Aveline and Sebastian exchanged a nervous look. Aveline moved to stand behind Fenris and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze; a gesture of support, but also a warning to hold his temper at bay.

  “Remember… me?” It was becoming harder for Hawke to breathe. She knew without a doubt that she had broken a rib or two. “Can… someone… _please_ just… fix it… so I can… bloody well… breathe again?” Hawke grimaced when another sharp pain hit her. But this time the pain came from her midsection. She grunted in severe discomfort once more when another intense spasm hit her. Her eyes widened in fear and panic when she spoke to Anders in a breathless and halting whisper. “Something… is… wrong….”

  Anders noticed that Hawke was holding her stomach and putting his former hostility aside, he exchanged a worried glance with Fenris. He quickly placed both hands onto the small swell of her midsection and closed his eyes to better concentrate on the image that was forming in his mind. After a few tense moments had passed, he opened his eyes again and regarded Hawke with a small, relieved smile. The unborn child’s heartbeat was strong and steady and he had found no damage to the babe.

  “Well? Out with it mage! What is wrong?” Fenris scowled at Anders, but his expression softened when he met Hawke’s worried eyes. He gave her a reassuring smile and brushed a stray lock of hair away from her furrowed brow.

  “The child appears to be fine,” Anders explained, directing his words to Hawke, “but I think these contractions you are experiencing might be the result of the trauma your body has just sustained.”  

  “So if you heal her injuries Anders, will that stop them?” asked Aveline. She studied his face as he answered her.

  “That is what I believe…”

  Aveline frowned slightly. “You believe? But you are not certain.”  She had seen the small shadow of doubt and uncertainty that crossed his face as he had spoke. “Do what you can, Anders. I am sure it will be enough.”  It _had_ to be enough. She was not ready to lose her friend.

  Merrill had been standing in the background, observing everything in silence. It had occurred to her that no one had mentioned anything about finding Tariel, or any of the other abductees. She moved closer to Hawke and then stopped, debating whether or not to inquire about the female elf. She finally decided that if Hawke had been in her place, she would not hesitate to bring up the subject. “Umm… I don’t mean to bother you now Hawke… and please don’t try to speak. Just nod or shake your head…if you can, that is. But did you find where Tariel and the others are being kept?” Merrill took a small step backwards when Fenris glared at her and then said nervously, “I just figured that I could help. If I knew where she was, I mean.”

  “Varric… knows… where.” Hawke tried unsuccessfully to hold back a groan of pain when another contraction racked her body and she shook her head. “Sorry… I…I can’t…” Hawke grit her teeth against the agony that gripped her body, and gave up any further attempt to talk.

  “Don’t worry Hawke. Daisy and I will take care of releasing Tariel and any others that are with her,” said Varric as he gestured to Merrill to follow him. “You just keep still and let Anders do his thing.”  Varric paused for a moment before leaving, and gave Hawke a concerned and more than a little guilt-ridden look. If only he had warned Hawke in time, he silently chided himself. Then she would not be lying there in pain and in danger of losing her child. With one last troubled glance towards Hawke, Varric shouldered Bianca, and with a despondent sigh, he walked away with Merrill.

  Anders took a deep breath and then requested to Aveline that she come stand by his side. He needed to get Hawke into an upright sitting position so that he could reach the injured ribs in her back, but he would need Aveline and Fenris’ help. He warned Hawke to steel herself against the pain she would feel when they sat her up, and when she nodded her head to signal her readiness, he told Aveline and Fenris to gently pull her upwards.

  Hawke bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from crying out and the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She closed her eyes against the sudden dizziness that assaulted her and winced as the pounding agony in her head intensified. Anders ran his hands across the back of Hawke’s ribcage as he searched for the ribs that were broken. Her eyes flew open and despite her intentions not to, she cried out when Anders pushed a rib back into its proper position.

  “Almost done, Cat… just hang on a little longer.” Anders’s hand slid along her ribcage until he felt the tell-tale bump of another rib that was not aligned properly. He paused in his manipulation of her ribs and told Fenris and Aveline to tighten their hold on Hawke. Anders took another moment to wipe away the beads of sweat that had fallen into his eyes, and then he pushed on the rib until it snapped back into place. He mentally winced when Hawke cried out again in pain.

  Sebastian bowed his head and began to pray aloud.

  Unable to see his love in such pain, Fenris cursed Anders and threatened him with great bodily harm, unless he healed Hawke that instant. Anders ignored the elf’s angry outburst and put one hand on Hawke’s head and another on her back. Drawing from the deep well of mana stored within him, Anders called on his healing powers and began to channel them into Hawke. Great beads of sweat stood out on Anders’ forehead as his concentration intensified. The magical energy flowed outwards from his hands in a steady burst of brilliant light. The stream of magic surrounded Hawke with a gentle heat that penetrated deep within her being.

  As her broken rib bones started to mend, Hawke clamped down again on her bottom lip when another wave of pain hit. She gave Fenris’ hand a hard squeeze, and groaned aloud when another sharp contraction hit her. Clasping his hand tighter around hers, Fenris glowered at Anders and snarled at him to hurry up. Anders shot an annoyed glance at Fenris and replied that he was doing the best he could, but when he saw Hawke grimace again, he dug yet deeper into his inner reserves and called forth more power.

  Fenris and Aveline moved backwards on their haunches as the healing energy that encased Hawke abruptly grew brighter and warmer. They watched in anxious anticipation as her bruises and burn marks began to fade away from the surface of her exposed skin. Within several moments, Hawke was finally able to take in deeper and deeper breaths, as her bones fused back together. When the relieved elf saw no further evidence of the pain that had previously marred her beautiful face, and the way her chest easily fell and rose at each breath, he silently thanked the Maker for hearing Sebastian’s prayers. Both he and Aveline stood up and moved a few paces away, when Anders indicated that he needed more room to complete Hawke’s healing process.

  Anders removed his hands from Hawke’s back and head and then placed both of them upon the small expansion of her belly, his lips moving in silent words of both prayer and incantations of healing. A wave of weariness washed over Anders, yet he refused to stop until he had exhausted every particle of mana that was stored within him. Minute by passing minute, waves of healing continued to permeate every part of Hawke, as Anders sought to relieve all her pain and completely mend her broken and bruised body and mind.

The soft rosy glow of health replaced the former paleness of Hawke’s skin, and the dizzying throbbing in her head no longer plagued her when she moved. Hawke could feel the changes in her body when the last of her injuries began to mend.

  Hawke placed a hand on top of Anders and gave it a gentle squeeze. She sensed that he had already tapped into his deepest reserves of magic and mana and was in danger of over-extending his powers. Most of her pain was gone and she had not had a contraction for several minutes. Hawke squeezed Anders’ hand once more in an attempt to gain his attention. “I’m fine now,” she stated softly. A grateful smile adorned her face when he finally turned to acknowledge her. “ _We’re_ fine…thanks to you, Anders.”

  Anders returned her smile with a happy, but exhausted, smile of his own. He removed his hands from her repaired body, and his healing power withdrew as well. The aura of light that had surrounded Hawke began to dissipate and within seconds, it had vanished. “How do you feel, Cat? Are you having any more contractions?” Anders searched her aquamarine eyes for any sign of falsehood when she shook her head no.

  “I feel a hundred percent better, Anders.” Hawke noticed he wore a cautious expression when he stood up. “Honestly, I’m no longer having any contractions. I would not lie to you, Anders.” Tilting her face up at him, she gave a low laugh when he raised a single eyebrow at her. “Well, not about this I wouldn’t.”

  Hawke’s expression soon sobered when she thought about how close she had come to serious harm, and how very close she had come to losing her and Fenris’ unborn child. Moreover, she only had herself and her impetuous behavior to blame. A sense of guilt settled upon her shoulders like a heavy mantle, and she turned an uneasy gaze towards Fenris. Hawke opened her mouth to speak to him, but the sound of Merrill’s voice had her closing her mouth again.

  “Hawke! Thank the Creators you are okay!” Merrill rushed over to her, and bending down she gave Hawke an enormous hug. “I was _so_ worried about you.” Merrill frowned when she heard her friend’s sharp intake of breath and soft grunt of discomfort. “You _are_ okay, aren’t you?”  Merrill hastily let go of Hawke and straightened back up, looking somewhat perplexed.

  “Hawke _was_ okay until you put your blasted arms around her and tried to crush her ribs again,” replied Anders. Both he and Fenris shot Merrill looks of varying degrees of irritation.

  “Leave her alone, you two. She didn’t cause me pain on purpose.” Hawke gave the distraught Dalish mage a reassuring smile. “I _am_ okay, Merrill, just still a bit sore at the moment.” Hawke ran a hand lightly over her tender ribcage. “And a little chilled from sitting so long on this cold cave floor,” she added with a shiver.  Hawke shifted her bottom and then her legs in an attempt to find a less uncomfortable position. Unable to find one, she swept her gaze over the companions that stood nearest to her. “Would one of you give me a hand and help me up?”

  Anders and Merrill, in their eagerness to help Hawke regain her feet, collided with each other as they moved in her direction at the same time. Hawke tried to smother a laugh at their comic clumsiness, but was unsuccessful, much to Anders’ dismay. Merrill gave Anders an apologetic smile and then hastily moved away from him when he shot her a disgruntled look. Sebastian and Aveline smiled at Merrill, but gave Anders a disapproving look at his treatment of the Dalish mage, which he pointedly ignored.

  Fenris stepped to Hawke’s side and extended a gauntleted hand to her. “Here, let me help you up before these two simpletons trample you underfoot.”  He reached down and grasping her hand with his, Fenris pulled her upright. Yet he did not let go of Hawke immediately, but rather pulled her close to him and embraced her in an uncharacteristic public show of affection and love. “Do not ever do that to me again Hawke,” he whispered against her ear, his voice betraying the fear she had caused him. “I could not endure living in a world where you no longer existed.”

  Her emotions still raw from her recent experience, Hawke did not trust herself to speak. She swallowed the tearful lump in her throat, caused by his heartfelt words, and slid her arms about his slim waist, pressing her body closer to his as she buried her face into the warm, comforting curve of his neck.

  When Varric arrived back on the scene with Tariel and five other captives, he saw Hawke and Fenris locked in a tight embrace. He came to an abrupt halt and his stomach dropped; his first thought was that they had lost their unborn child. Anders happened to notice Varric’s arrival and gave the dwarf a nod. “Blondie, please tell me that the elf has finally gotten over his somewhat prudish aversion to showing affection in public,” said Varric, “and that’s why he has Hawke stuck closer to him than those skintight leggings he wears.”

  “Yes… it is rather nauseating to watch, isn’t it?” asked Anders. He turned back to look at Varric and frowned at the strange expression the dwarf was wearing. “What’s the matter? Oh, did you think…?” Anders smiled, shaking his head. “No, Hawke didn’t lose the child, Varric.”

  Varric’s shoulders slumped in relief and he ran his gloved fingers through the top of his pulled back hair. He caught Hawke’s eye across the cave, as she disentangled herself from Fenris’ embrace. “You could have just told me that right from the beginning, Blondie.”

  Anders grinned and gave him a careless shrug of the shoulders. “You could have just asked.”

  Varric sighed and beckoned to the small group of freed captives that were standing behind him, signaling them to follow him. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” grumbled Varric to no one in particular as he began to move with short, purposeful strides across the cave floor, his long leather coat billowing out behind him, to the spot where Fenris and Hawke were waiting for him.


	16. Chapter 16

The rounded orb of the full moon, hanging high in the cloudless night sky over the Wounded Coast, cast its bright silver light upon the remaining party members as they walked along the roadway. They came upon a small encampment, not far from the entrance of the cavern where they had spent most of the earlier part of the evening, and it was there they decided to spend the night.

  Aveline, Merrill and Sebastian had headed back to Kirkwall, accompanied by Tariel and the other rescued captives. They would see their charges safely returned to their respective families, while Fenris, Hawke, Anders and Varric, stayed the night at the Coast. Anders felt that the long walk home, so soon after he had healed Hawke’s injuries, would put undue stress on Hawke’s body, so he had thought it best that she recuperate a little longer before heading back to the city. Fenris had agreed with Anders’ assessment and Hawke was out-voted, so she had no choice but to stay the night at one of the encampments found along the bluffs of the Wounded Coast.

  This particular encampment, one often used by the Kirkwall’s guardsmen that patrolled along this area of the coast, had been the most obvious choice for Hawke and her three other companions to spend the remainder of the night; it was a short walk from the caves they had just vacated and it contained adequate shelter. The two wooden structures found at the site, each with a roof and two sides, would provide its occupants some protection from the elements, should bad weather come upon them. There was also plenty of dry tinder and fallen wood in the immediate area, so it had been an easy enough task for Anders to start a roaring fire in the circular fire-pit that was located at the heart of the serviceable campsite.

  A very large chest sitting against one of the wooden structures had drawn their attention, so Varric took it upon himself to investigate it. When the dwarf tried pulling open the top of the wooden chest, he found that it would not budge. Varric stood before the locked chest, staring at it, and he scratched his head in consternation. Noticing that the dwarf was just standing there in front of the chest, Hawke called out to him from the other side of the campsite, asking him what was wrong.

  “This chest is locked up tighter than the virginal thighs of the Grand Cleric,” he replied, turning around to look over at where Hawke was sitting on the sandy ground with her back propped up against a large rock. “Do you think Aveline would mind if I picked the lock?”

  “Hmm…well I’m certainly glad Sebastian isn’t here,” she said with a laugh, “For I’m quite sure he would take offense at your rather colorful characterization of Grand Cleric Elthina’s thighs.”  Hawke stopped laughing and gave Varric a thoughtful look. “I find it odd that you are worried about getting permission to pick a lock on something. You’ve never worried about such things before, Varric.”

  “True, but this chest has the seal of Kirkwall’s guardsmen Hawke, and I would rather not get on a certain ginger-haired Guard-Captain’s bad side,” explained Varric. He turned back to study the locked chest once more and said, muttering aloud to himself, “That woman scares the sodden piss out of me.” Varric turned back around when he heard the amused chuckles of his friends. “What?” he asked them in an exasperated tone, and then he shrugged his leather-clad shoulders. “Well, she does.”

  Trying to bring her peals of delighted laughter under control, Hawke shook her head at Varric and then rubbed her sore ribs when her exuberant laughter brought about a sudden twinge of pain. Once she had caught her breath, she assured Varric that Aveline would not hold it against him if he opened the chest without use of a key. Varric reached into his long leather coat and from within an inner pocket, he withdrew the two long, tapered pieces of steel that he used to pick locks. Kneeling down on one knee before the large chest, he inserted first one metal pick, and then the other. After a few careful and skillful maneuvers of the tools, Varric heard the lock give way with a loud _click_. Removing the steel instruments, he placed them back into the concealed inner pocket of his coat, and then stood to his feet.

  Anders joined Varric by the chest and remarked that he hoped that the container held a few heavy blankets, as he did not fancy spending the rest of the night sleeping on the hard ground with nothing more than his robes to keep him warm. Hawke knew that should the chest not contain any, she would still have Fenris sleeping by her side to help keep the cold at bay, but she was sure that Anders would not be particularly pleased if she pointed that fact out to him, so she wisely kept her thoughts to herself.

  It turned out that the chest did contain more than enough wool-spun blankets to keep all four of them well insulated from the night’s cooler temperature. Upon further examination of its contents, Varric found only a few well-crafted daggers, a long steel blade and a small wooden buckler. Varric picked up one of the daggers and remarked that it would probably fetch a good amount of gold coin, if someone decided to sell it. Anders replied that of course that _someone_ would then have Aveline to contend with, so that somebody might want to leave the dagger where it was. Varric shot Anders a sideways glance and then dropped the dagger into the chest. He was, after all, not an idiot.

 After Anders had removed several of the heavy woolen blankets, Varric closed the chest’s lid and then moved to sit on a fallen log by the fire. Once the dwarf was seated, he removed his beloved crossbow from its holder and then lovingly began to rub Bianca’s burnished wood with a soft rag.

  “It’s a little disturbing just how much time Varric spends rubbing that crossbow of his,” remarked Anders, as he handed Hawke one of the woolen blankets he held in the crook of one arm. “I think someone should find him an actual person to fondle. Or at the very least, a trip to The Blooming Rose may be in order.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about Varric. I’m sure he is not lacking for female companionship, Anders.”  Hawke looked up into Anders’ face and gave him an impish smile. “What of yourself, Anders? Have _you_ been spending much time at The Blooming Rose of late? Maybe _you_ should suggest that Varric join you there sometime.” Hawke gave an amused laugh at his sudden refusal to meet her eyes. She noticed he still had not answered her question and a mischievous glint appeared in her eye. “Well, at least if you catch something there, you’ll know what salve to use.”

  Hawke laughed in earnest when Anders unceremoniously dumped the remaining blankets on top of her and then strode away, the sounds of muttered curses trailing the air behind him as he put distance between Hawke and himself. Chuckling to herself, Hawke pulled the woolen blankets off her and placed them in a pile on the ground next to her. After today’s events, she had been in need of a little light-heartedness and Anders’ reaction to her words had provided just that.

  “What has put you in such a good mood, Hawke?”

 Her face lighting up at the sound of his deep voice, Hawke turned her head to watch Fenris as he walked back into the campsite. He had been out scouting the immediate area, making sure that there were no bandits, Tal-Vashoth, or any other hostiles in the vicinity. Hawke immediately noticed the fresh blood on the blade of the two-handed sword he carried. Observing the direction of her gaze, Fenris removed a piece of cloth from the leather pouch he wore and after wiping the blade clean, he sheathed his blade and gave her a reassuring smile.

 “Not going to answer my question, love?” asked Fenris. He glanced to his right, taking in the fact that Anders’ face wore a distinct expression of sullen annoyance as he sat on the fallen log beside Varric, and then Fenris’ astute gaze flickered back to Hawke.

  “Oh, I was just having a bit of fun at Anders’ expense,” she replied with a soft chuckle, not elaborating any further on the subject.  “And what of you, Fenris?” she asked, tilting her head upwards, giving him a curious look. “I noticed there is fresh blood on your blade.” Hawke’s concerned-filled gaze skimmed over his tall frame, searching for any new signs of injury.

  “The blood is from a few raiders that did not have enough Maker-given sense to heed my advice and leave the area.” His expression hardened when he thought of the three men he had killed, how their spilled blood had puddled and then slowly soaked into the dirt-covered ground. “And now they will never leave this place.”

  Hawke felt a moment of sadness. Circumstances had made Fenris into the warrior that stood tall and stoic before her, but she knew in his heart that he did not enjoy killing. Fenris killed to survive and to protect those he loved. Knowing that he would give his life to protect her, to protect the child she carried, did nothing to lesson her sadness. Hawke would gladly do the same for him, however, she planned to live a long and full life with her elf, and therefore she would do everything within her power to see that this envisioned life would come to fruition.

  Hawke reached out a slender hand to Fenris, so that he could help her to her feet. She had been sitting too long on the hard ground, and her limbs had grown stiff and sore. Once standing, she leaned in and gave Fenris a quick, tender kiss on his lips. When she had finished the kiss, she moved her mouth to his ear and whispered, “I love you, Fenris. Never forget that.” She smiled inwardly when she felt the quiet quiver of his taut body, beneath the hand resting against his chest, when her warm breath touched his skin. Hawke nuzzled the lobe of his ear and then inhaled deeply, taking in his slightly sweaty and musky scent. “Perhaps we could find a more private place and I could… show you, instead of telling you,” she said softly against his ear. Even through the barrier of his black armored breastplate, Hawke could feel the strong effect her words were having on him by the way his heart began to thump faster within his chest.

  “I am sorely tempted to take you up on your offer,” Fenris began as he brushed his lips against the exposed side of her neck, “but I must remind you that it has only been a few hours since your healing.”  Fenris chuckled at the feigned pout Hawke gave him when she brought her head around to look at him. “Let us not tempt fate, shall we?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she admitted grudgingly.  An impish glint came into Hawke’s eyes as she thought of something. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to have to go back to Anders for healing, and then have to explain to him just how I reinjured myself.” _Especially since after the way I just teased him, he would probably just tell me to go take a flying leap off a short pier._ Unwilling to voice her thought to Fenris, she simply gave him benign smile when he raised a brow at her expression. 

  As if to reiterate just how insufferable a thing that would be, Anders’ peevish voice called out to the pair, “I seriously think I will vomit if the two of you don’t behave and quit acting like a pair of love-struck fools.” Crossing his arms, he shot Hawke a petulant look and then turned back to stare idly into the burning flames of the fire pit. “I’ve seen less displays of public affection from the whores in The Blooming Rose,” he muttered aloud.

  “A place the mage is well acquainted with I hear,” replied Fenris.

  Fenris had been looking at Hawke as he spoke, but his voice was loud and rang out clear enough for Anders to overhear. Moreover, by the sudden tenseness in the mage’s upper body, Hawke had no doubt that Anders had heard every deliberate word. She shook her head at Fenris, rolling her eyes in mild exasperation at his obvious attempt to put Anders in his place. Hawke knew eventually she would have to smooth things over with Anders, but she did not have the energy to deal with that particular endeavor at this moment in time.

  Hawke was feeling sluggish and her empty stomach was reminding her that she had not eaten anything of substance since morning. Hawke rubbed her rumbling stomach and sighed. She hoped one of the others had had the foresight to check the slavers’ provisions in the cave for edible items. Her stomach complained loudly again at the thought of food.

  Fenris smiled when he heard her stomach rumble. “I think it is time I fed the mother of my child, would not you agree?” he asked her with a low chuckle. He smiled when Hawke, agreeing with him, gave a happy nod of her head. Fenris called out to Varric and asked the dwarf where he had stashed the provisions they had removed from the cavern. Varric motioned to a large sack that sat on the ground a few feet to the left of him and Anders. Looking in the direction that Varric had gestured to, Fenris located where Varric had left the sack and with Hawke’s hand firmly clasped in his, he moved towards it with Hawke in tow.

  When the two neared the spot where the sack was located, Hawke pulled her hand from Fenris’ grip and moved ahead of him, jostling him slightly in her haste to reach the food. Fenris laughed and shook his head at his love’s impatience, but decided it was best if he stayed well out of the way and let her handle the provisions. He stood back and watched with interest as Hawke reached into the large sack and then pulled out item after item, and before she was finished, she had gathered a large pile of consumable items at her feet. Raising a brow at the large pile of victuals, Fenris wondered just how much food Hawke intended on eating.

  An hour later, her hunger sufficiently sated, Hawke found herself sitting alone with Anders in front of the fire. Fenris and Varric had excused themselves to take care of personal needs, leaving the two mages alone. All through the late evening meal, Anders had been unusually reserved, only smiling once or twice when Varric told a joke or one of his patented exaggerated stories that involved Hawke and some of her adventures before she had met either Anders, or Fenris.

  Hawke was sitting on a blanket spread out on the ground, which she and Fenris had been sharing, enjoying their meal picnic style. Varric and Anders had preferred to eat their food while sitting on the large log, and that was where Anders had remained throughout the evening. She decided that she had let Anders sulk long enough for one evening, and since she was feeling a little guilt-ridden for her earlier teasing, she decide it was time for the two of them to talk.

  “Anders, come join me here so we can chat,” Hawke said, patting a spot on the blanket beside her with her hand. She gave him an expectant look as she waited for him to join her. When Anders turned his gaze from the fire to hers, he said nothing and it was obvious to Hawke that he was hesitant to join her on the blanket. Feeling more uncomfortable by the moment as the seconds ticked by, and Anders remained seated and silent, Hawke began to wonder if he had just decided to ignore her request altogether. Hawke began to fidget and then she started to pluck at the end of her robe’s sleeve before she realized what she was doing. _For the Maker’s sake! I’m starting to act like Merrill does when she’s around Anders!_

Hawke scowled at her actions and turned her head away from Anders. Looking down at the blanket she sat upon, she noticed that there were a few apples left over from her meal. She picked up a red apple, and bit into its crisp skin with a forceful _crunch_ , taking out her burgeoning anger on the innocent fruit. When she heard Anders sudden burst of laughter, Hawke turned her head to give him an indignant look.

  “Forgive me, Cat. I’m not really laughing at you.” When Hawke arched an eyebrow at him, he chuckled once more and said, “Well, I am, but it’s not in the way you think. It’s just that… sitting on the blanket there, eating that apple rather angrily… you just reminded me of another woman that I knew long ago.” His eyes grew distance as he lost himself in the memory, but after a few moments had passed, he returned his attention to Hawke. “But this particular woman would have probably thrown that apple at me by now. She had quite the temper,” he said with a fond smile for the woman in his memory.

 Hawke bit into the rest of her apple, then chewing thoughtfully, she mulled over what he had just said. Her interest in this woman grew as she studied his face. When he had been speaking, Hawke thought she had detected something in his face that lent her to believe that there had been more than just friendship between Anders and this mystery woman of his. Her interest severely piqued, she finished eating her apple, swallowing the last piece before speaking.

  “So who is this woman, Anders?” she asked. “Is she a mage?”

  “No…not a mage.”

  When Anders did not elaborate further, Hawke gave him an exasperated sigh. She just knew he was being deliberately obtuse in order to bug her. Hawke wanted to know more about the woman; actually, she wanted to more about his past in general. He had always avoided talking about his life before coming to Kirkwall- to her, or to anyone else for that matter.

 Hawke rotated her body so that she was directly facing him and gave him another annoyed look as she tried to find a comfortable position to sit in. However, no matter how she positioned her body, she could not get comfortable. Hawke finally realized that the problem was her full bladder, but she decided to ignore it. Being pregnant was _so_ very inconvenient at times!

  Anders had noticed her discomfort and having been around a pregnant woman or two, he had gathered what the issue was. He could tell that Hawke was determined to know more about the woman he had alluded to- about Arianna. Yet Anders was not willing to talk about her to Hawke. His face grew wistful as he pictured Arianna in his mind. Anders had not thought about that stubborn, quick-tempered, auburn- haired beauty for years. In fact, he done everything he could _not_ to think about Arianna. She had been a part of his old life, part of a past that held no place in the here and now. He was no longer the same man- the same mage- that Arianna had known. Sometimes, Anders thought, it was better to leave the past buried and forgotten.  It was less painful that way.

  “Anders?” Hawke spoke his name softly. “Are you... is everything okay?” She had been watching his face and the emotions she had seen crossing his face… they had torn at her heart.

  Her voice startled him out of his reminiscences. He shook himself and then cleared his mind of the past. “I’m fine, Cat.”  He paused and gave her a knowing look. “But I think maybe you should follow the dwarf and elf’s examples and heed nature’s call.”

  Anders chuckled when Hawke, still fidgeting, scowled at him. He stood up, walked over to her and then presented his hand to her. When she reluctantly placed her hand in his, he pulled her to her feet. Once standing he pulled her to him for a quick, fierce hug and then let her go. Anders had looked over her shoulder and noticed Fenris had just reentered the encampment. Before Hawke could say anything, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around until she was facing Fenris. He gave her a little push in the elf’s direction and then turned and walked away to one of the empty wooden shelters. Anders was exhausted, both mentally and physically, and he wanted to make sure that Hawke would have no further chance to grill him tonight. The only thing he wanted to do right now was to go to sleep… and to dream about absolutely nothing.


	17. Chapter 17

Upon arriving home Hawke was greeted with the excited sounds of her hound’s barking and Sandal’s laughter, as the two chased each other around the main living area of the estate. Ser Dog suddenly skidded to a halt; he had caught the familiar scent of his mistress when she entered the mansion’s anteroom, and he turned to greet her with a loud, happy bark. Hawke crossed the threshold and entered into the main area with a tired, but pleased smile. Her dog rushed to meet her, but was careful not to jump up or jostle Hawke as he usually did when welcoming her home. Instead, he sat down on his rear haunches and waited patiently for his mistress to acknowledge his presence.

  Hawke gave the dog an inquiring look. “What? Not going to jump up and lick me to death, are you? And here I thought you would be happy to see me.”

  “The doggie doesn’t want to hurt the baby. He’s a nice doggie,” explained Sandal with a huge grin.

  Hawke smiled fondly at Sandal and her Mabari. She bent down and hugged her hound around his stout neck, and received a sloppy kiss for her effort. With a laugh, she wiped her wet face and gave Ser Dog another quick hug before straightening up.

  “Welcome back, Messere Hawke. It’s good to see you looking so well.” The elder dwarf always worried that his mistress would seriously injure herself one day while resolving the problems of some of Kirkwall’s citizens; therefore, he was greatly relieved that she appeared to have returned in good health.

  “Thank you, Bodahn. I see you’ve managed to keep these two from tearing up the place while I was away.”

  The older dwarf chuckled and nodded his head. “Yes, I have kept things well in hand, Messere Hawke. Everything is as it should be.” Bodahn returned Hawke’s gracious smile and motioned Sandal to his side. “Why don’t you go play with Ser Dog outside for a bit, my boy? So our mistress can enjoy a little peace and quiet.”

  Hawke thanked Bodahn for his considerate suggestion and gave her dog a last pat on his head before moving to the desk to sort through her daily mail. She had only been away for two days, yet a sizable pile of correspondence had collected on her desk. Hawke sifted through the mail, opening a few of the letters to read when she recognized a familiar name or location. Most of the letters and notes asked for her physical assistance in some matter, but there were also solicitations to give coin to local charities or to fund causes the local political groups supported. The latter type of requests automatically ended up in the pile destined for the trash. Hawke made it a point to stay as far away as she could from politics, which had often led to arguments between her and Anders. He felt she should take a more active role in Kirkwall’s political affairs, to use her considerable money and influence, and help further the cause of mages within the city.

  At the thought of Anders, she felt another small twinge of guilt for the unmerciful way she had teased him. Frequent bantering between the two mages was just one of the normal by-products of the close relationship they shared, but the teasing was normally never hurtful or mean spirited. Hawke felt she might have crossed that imaginary line with Anders yesterday, however, with her insensitive comment about _The Blooming Rose_ and salves. She would have to apologize to Anders the next time she saw him, so she could rid herself of her annoying feelings of guilt.

   Hawke was also still curious about Anders’ mysterious woman. She had hoped that sometime later today, they would be able to finish the conversation they had started last night at the encampment, but it appeared that Anders was doing his best to avoid having any further conversation with her. When they had reached the city limits, Anders had parted ways with the rest of the group, saying that he needed to attend to things at the clinic and would most likely spend the night there in Lowtown. His parting had been so abrupt, that she had not had time to retrieve her staff from him, which he had insisted on carrying for her- despite her protests.

  Once back in Kirkwall, Varric had headed back to his quarters at The Hanged Man, and Fenris had headed to Viscounts Keep. Hawke had requested that he go speak with Aveline to see if everything had gone well, with Tariel and the other freed captives, in reuniting them with their families and loved ones. Therefore, Hawke and Fenris had parted ways at the front entryway of her estate, and now she was just waiting for him to return.

  Hawke finished reading her mail, and decided to head upstairs to her room. When she turned away from the desk, Bodahn informed her that he and Sandal, were heading to the market in order to restock some of the supplies the estate’s larder was low on, and asked if she minded if he took Ser Dog along with them. Hawke gave her consent, then climbed the stairway to the second floor and headed to her bedroom.

  She entered her room, walking several paces forward, but then stopped short with a surprised gasp when her gaze fell on the large brass bathtub that was sitting near the wall, to the right of her large four-poster bed. Looking pleased, Hawke looked the tub over, wondering where- or from whom- it had come from. The burnished tub looked long and deep enough to fit the tall frame of Fenris, and wide enough to fit comfortably her growing girth. The best thing about the tub, however, was that it was low enough for her to climb in and out of it with little effort, even during the last stages of her pregnancy. Hawke walked over to the bathtub and ran her hand slowly along its curves, taking pleasure in the smooth feel of its polished brass sides. She could already visualize herself taking a long, hot soak within the deep interior of the tub.

  “You are pleased with the gift, I take it.”

  Hawke spun around and gave Fenris a delighted smile. “It’s from you?”

  Crossing his arms before his chest, he leaned against the wall and regarded her with mild amusement. “Well, who else would give you such a personal gift?”  At her quick blush, he raised a brow at her and said, “Let me rephrase the question: whom else other than _me_ , would you accept such a personal gift from?”

  Hawke’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink with embarrassment. She _had_ initially thought that the brass tub had been from Fenris, but then it also crossed her mind that perhaps Anders might have given it to her. Dropping her gaze to the floor, she frowned at herself when she realized that it had never occurred to her _not_ to accept the gift had it indeed been from Anders. Hawke raised her eyes to his and smiled. “It is a very thoughtful and lovely gift. Thank you, Fenris. I love it.”

  The corners of his lips twisted upward into a wry smile as he met her gaze. Brushing away the quick stab of annoyance, Fenris decided to let her sidestep his question, for he knew the events of the past few days had taken a toll on her precarious emotional state, and he was unwilling to put her under further duress. Besides, Fenris was well aware whose name she would have uttered.

  “You are most welcome, my love.” Pushing himself away from the wall, Fenris dropped his arms to his side and moved to stand in front of Hawke. He placed his hand flat, with fingers spread wide, on the small rounded bump of her stomach. “Yet my gift pales in comparison to the one that you are about to give me.” His green eyes widened and then shone bright with wonder when he felt the strong movement of his unborn child beneath his hand. Fenris had felt his child move within Hawke’s womb before, but never in such a pronounced and forceful way. “It would seem that our child is eager to greet his father.” The grin he gave Hawke when he met her eyes was infectious in its joy, and she returned his smile with a brilliant one of her own.

  “Not too eager, I hope, my delivery date is not for three more months yet,” she reminded him, chuckling at the somewhat crestfallen expression that adorned his face. “Don’t look so downhearted, Fenris… that day will arrive all too quickly, whether we are prepared for it or not.”

  “Speaking of being prepared…have you decided upon a midwife yet?”  Fenris felt her muscles tense under his hand and he gave her an inquisitive look. “What is the matter?”

  Hawke gave him an uneasy smile, as she tried to think of the best way to tell him that Anders would be delivering their child, and not a midwife. “Um…wrong? Nothing is wrong at all. What makes you think something is wrong?” she asked him. “Everything is fine… just fine.” Hawke groaned inwardly. She knew she was prattling on like an empty-headed maiden, but she could not seem to stop herself. She started to fidget under Fenris’ silent scrutiny. Hawke suddenly had much more empathy for Merrill. _Maker, just tell him and stop being such a coward!_ Hawke took a quick breath and then said quickly,“I’m not using a midwife- Anders is going to deliver our child.”  She held her breath and waited for the inevitable explosion.

  “No.”

 The brevity and calmness of his reply surprised her. Hawke let her breath out in a noisy rush of air and asked, “No? That’s all you’re going to say? Just… no?” She stared after him as he turned and headed towards the armor stand that was on the other side of the room. “Don’t you think we should at least discuss this, Fenris?”

  Fenris pulled off one of his gauntlets and then the other, before placing them both on the armor stand that was set beside the wardrobe. Glancing over at Hawke he said firmly, “No, I do not.”

  Hawke continued watching Fenris as he unbuckled his sheath and sword, dropping it carefully to the ground, and then methodically removed each item of his clothing until he had stripped down to his undergarments. He hung his discarded protective gear and accessories on the armor stand, and then reached down to draw his sword from its sheath. Holding the blade upwards, he inspected its edges with a careful eye and then ran his thumb along each side of the blade, testing its sharpness. Lowering the sword, he looked about the room, as if searching for something.

  “I purchased some new whetstones for you and put them in that small chest, over there between the bed and the wardrobe,” Hawke said, pointing to where the chest was sitting. “I also put your oils and cloths in there as well.” She wrinkled her noise and said, “Those unwashed sheepskins of yours, smell horrible. I couldn’t abide the odor any longer, so I placed them in the chest with the rest of the things you use to clean your weapons and armor.”

  “Unfortunately, only the unwashed sheepskins still carry the lanolin that is used to waterproof and condition my leather gear, so I am afraid you will have to put up with the unpleasant odor,” explained Fenris. “Unless you wish me to remove them to my home…?” Pleased when she shook her head to the contrary, he gave her a thankful smile.

  Moving to the small chest, Fenris opened the lid and examined the contents within. “How did you know what type of whetstones to purchase?”  He gave her an appraising look. “These are of very fine quality. I thank you.”

  “I didn’t know which ones would be best suited to sharpen a blade such as yours, so I asked Aveline and she told me which ones to purchase.” Hawke smiled at Fenris, but then sighed in slight exasperation. “Of course, it also meant that I had to listen to an extremely _long_ and detailed explanation of _why_ those types of whetstones were the best kind to use and how to actually go about _using_ them to sharpen a blade.” She sighed again and reaching up to her ponytail with one hand, she pulled off the tie and let her hair fall, unbound, to her shoulders. Shaking her hair out, she muttered half to herself, “Maker, that woman does like to go on and on about blighted blades and their care. Good thing she already has Donnic, or I’d worry about her never being able to find a man.” A smile flashed across her face when she heard Fenris’ deep chuckle. “Well, it’s true,” she replied with a laugh, walking across the room to where he stood.

  Turning from the opened chest, he faced her with a teasing smile. “Perhaps, a simple ‘thank you’ is not a sufficient enough compensation for having to suffer through such a conversation,” he said, dropping his two-handed sword to the floor.

  “Well, I _was_ nearly bored to death, on your account. That should be taken into consideration, wouldn’t you agree?”  She stepped closer to him, and gazed brazenly into his green eyes. “So, what other kind of ‘thank you’, did you have in mind?”

  Fenris slipped a hand behind her head, and then drew her to him for a kiss that started out slow and soft, but then quickly inflamed into something more primal and fierce. Hawke’s soft moans of pleasure ignited his passion further; his tongue sought hers, wanting to taste her, to feel the warm recesses of her inviting mouth. Fisting her hands in his pale hair, Hawke urged him on with her lips and her tongue, pressing her body closer to his. A groan of frustration escaped from her lips when she was unable to fit her body any closer to his, hindered as she was by the rounded shape of her belly.

  Out of breath, and still very much frustrated, Hawke pulled away from Fenris when the child she carried kicked her ribs in protest of being squished against its father’s hard body. “Andraste’s fiery knickers,” she muttered, “thwarted by my own unborn child.”

  Fenris placed a hand on her stomach and gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Of the three here, it would seem that our child is the only one with the good sense to stop things before they went too far.” Removing his hand form her midsection he lifted it to cup one of her flushed cheeks. “I fear you are not yet up to such strenuous activities,” Fenris said, a half smile crossing his face.

  “Says who? I am willing to risk it.”

  “However, I am not.”

  “But-”

Fenris leaned his head forward and gave Hawke a soft kiss on her lips, effectively quieting her protest. Hawke gave a long sigh when he removed his lips from hers. The elf was probably right. She hated it when he was right. Fenris caught her expression and laughed aloud before he could stop himself, which earned him a perturbed glare from Hawke. With a good-natured smirk, he kissed her once more- this time on her cheek- and then turned away from her, still chuckling to himself. Unlike Fenris, she was clearly not pleased with the fact that he may actually be right about something.

  While Fenris busied himself with the cleaning of his sword and armor, Hawke decided that she might as well use the gift he had so generously given to her. Although… she had installed a perfectly good privy and bathing area in one of the larger rooms near the wine cellar, so she though it odd that he had purchased a bathtub for her.

  “Fenris?”

  He gave her a preoccupied glance from where he stood, as he ran the whetstone alone the edge of his blade.

  “Why a bathtub?” she asked. “What’s wrong with the bathing area I have downstairs?”

  “It is three levels down… too far for you to have to go in your condition,” he replied in a rather absent manner, still focused on his task.

  Hawke’s first impulse was to complain that she was not an invalid, only pregnant, and that she was very capable of doing the things that she had always done. Yet, upon further reflection, she realized that not many males would be as caring and thoughtful as Fenris had shown himself to be with this gift. She understood that this was one of his ways of showing her how much he truly loved and cared for her, and it made her love him even more.

  Humming softly to herself, Hawke began to prepare for her bath. Normally, the towels and washcloths were stored in the in bathing area in the lower ground floor, but she had recently purchased a few new ones, and had placed them in one of the drawers of her tall dresser. Pulling out the bottom drawer, she removed a towel and washcloth, but it was then that she remembered that she had neither soap, nor bath salts or oils in her room.

  With a thoughtful frown, she went over her options. Since Bodahn was out shopping, either she or Fenris would have to fetch the soap from the lower level. It was unlikely that Fenris would want her to go, since that would negate the whole reason for him purchasing the tub for her, but she did not want him to have to go down three levels himself; he looked tired. Then a thought occurred to her; Anders should have a bar of soap in his room- her mother’s old room.

  A feeling of sadness stole over Hawke as she thought of her deceased mother. She had not stepped foot into the room since the day her mother had been killed. It had been Anders, who had carefully boxed up all of Leandra’s worldly possessions when he had moved into her quarters. He saw that Hawke was unable to take that final step of saying goodbye, so he had taken it upon himself to pack and then move her things to an empty storage room within the estate. Hawke could feel that familiar pain building inside of her as she thought of her mother and the manner of her death. She took an unsteady breath, and willed the crushing pain to go away. She still was not ready to go into that room. Fenris would have to retrieve the soap for her.

  “Anders -”

  A Tevinter swear burst from his lips as Fenris cut her off. “The answer is still no, Hawke!” He glared at her, angry and resentful that she was interrupting his chore with more on the subject of Anders delivering their child. “For once I would like us to be together without you bringing up that damnable mage’s name.”

  Taken aback, Hawke stood there stunned, feeling as if Fenris had just slapped her. Stung by his words, she blinked back the sudden tears that filled her eyes and continued to stare at him in wounded silence.

  “Crying will not cause me to change my mind,” he warned Hawke, his eyes narrowing into a scowl. He had noticed the tears glistening in her eyes, yet he was determined not to change his mind- despite the sudden tug at his heart. When Hawke still stood mute, not arguing with him, Fenris started to have an uncomfortable feeling that all was not as he had supposed. Her next words to him confirmed that he had been horribly wrong in his assumptions.

  “I only wanted you to get a bar of soap from my...from Anders’ room for me.” Hawke spoke in a quiet voice that betrayed the hurt she felt. She raised her chin higher as she met his gaze and said, “I’m sorry that I brought up his name…but I don’t…I still can’t bring myself to enter mother’s room. I didn’t think you would mind doing that for me.”

  Putting down his sword, Fenris let out a loud string of curses, but this time he was cursing himself for his rash and jealous behavior. His shoulders slumped in dejection as he looked at Hawke in remorse and said, “I am sorry, _emma lath_. Of course I will fetch the soap for you.”

  Hawke smiled at the elven words he had spoken. She knew that Fenris often resorted to speaking in _Elvenhen,_ or the tongue of the Dalish, when he was under emotional duress or wanted to convey his feelings better. Although, when he was extremely angry he reverted to speaking in _Arcanum_ , the Tevinter language that- unlike the elvish- Hawke was unable to understand at all.

  “It seems that we have both said and done things during these past two days, that each of us are sorry for,” replied Hawke with a fleeting, sad smile. “Whoever said, ‘ _love is never having to say you’re sorry_ ,’ is either full of dragon shit, or a blighted idiot.” She smiled at Fenris once again, but this time all traces of her sadness had disappeared.

  Agreeing with her sentiment, Fenris went to her and wrapped his arms around her, drawing comfort in the fact that she hugged him back just as hard. Hawke sank into his arms and relaxed against his chest as she tightened her arms about his upper body. Closing her eyes, she let out a long sigh of contentment and enjoyed the warmth and feel of his body against hers as Fenris softly murmured words of endearments to her.

  Hawke suddenly remembered that that she had never inquired about Fenris’ conversation with Aveline, regarding Tariel and the others they had freed. Hawke sighed with pleasure when she felt Fenris’ teasing lips skim along the side of her neck, and she promptly forgot about Tariel once again.


	18. Chapter 18

Catelynn Hawke stopped to gaze through the second floor window of her manor. The tall window looked out over her side courtyard and into her neighbors’ second floor balcony. She caught a glimpse of the rotund man as he passed by his unadorned balcony windowed doors, and wrinkled her nose in distaste. _Maker! Why does he insist upon not wearing clothes?_   _Of course, if he had a body like Fenris, I might not mind the view so much…_ Hawke sighed and made a mental note to ask Bodahn to adjust the drapes on this particular window.

  Hawke moved away from the window and walked to the stairway. She paused for a moment at the top and looked over at the closed door of Anders’ room. It had been three days since returning from the Wounded Coast, and she still had not seen him. She knew that he had returned to the estate at least one time, for when she left her room early one morning the staff he had carried for her was leaning against the outside jamb of her bedroom door. Not hearing any sound of movement from within his room, Hawke descended the stairway.

  When she reached the bottom, she paused, her hand on the railing, and looked in the direction of the manor’s entryway. She started to walk towards the main entrance, but halted after a few paces and frowned. Hawke could hear Fenris’ deep voice in her mind, reminding her that she had promised him to stay at home for one more day. She wondered when in the Void her inner voice started to sound exactly like Fenris. Shaking her head, she reluctantly changed directions and headed instead to the study, or the library as her mother had always called it. Pausing at the threshold, Hawke felt that familiar sad emptiness she always felt whenever her thoughts turned to those members of her family that were no longer with her. She missed her mother Leandra, and her younger sister Bethany… she missed her father Malcolm and, even though his passing had been years ago, the hurt remained fresh.

“Cat… are you alright?”

  Hawke spun around, startled by Anders’ voice. She looked up at him as he stood at the top of the stairs and wondered how long he had been standing there watching her. “Anders, when did you get home?”

  “Just before dawn, I think. I was trying to catch up on my sleep. The bed at the clinic is not conducive to getting a good night’s rest.” He studied her face for a moment. “But you haven’t answered my question.”

  “I’m fine, Anders. Just… missing my family, I suppose,” she replied, her eyes following him as he walked down the stairs. She noticed the faint dark shadows under his eyes and gathered that the hours he had managed to sleep had not been enough, but otherwise he looked healthy to her. “You seem well…”

  Anders reached the bottom of the stairs and, after giving her the faintest of smiles, replied, “I am better… now.”

  Hawke thought his reply was a little cryptic in nature, but she decided not to comment on it. She had the feeling that he was still less than pleased with her, and she did not want to antagonize him any further. Therefore, she simply gave him a benign smile and then turned away from him to enter the study, her thoughts drifting once again to the loved ones she had lost.

  She ambled across the room to one of the tall bookshelves that lined the walls, and started perusing the various book titles, looking for something to keep her interest. Normally she loved to read, but it seemed that during the past three days, she had read just about every book within the room…at least to her it felt that way. She selected a tome and flipped through its pages, and then returned it to the shelf with a sigh. Hawke completed this process several more times until she finally gave up on the idea and she turned away.

  “Didn’t find any book to your liking?”

  Startled for the second time, Hawke clutched her hand to her breast. “By the Holy Maker! _Must_ you keep sneaking up on me like that?” she asked Anders, dropping her hand to her rounded stomach as her heartbeat settled back into its normal rhythm. “How long have you been standing over there?”

  “I entered the room right after you did,” he replied, leaning a broad shoulder against the stoned face of the fireplace. “Your mind must really be leagues away, Cat, for you not to have realized that I followed you in here.”

  Hawke gave him a bland look and walked to the small couch that sat in front of the fireplace. Moving aside one of the large pillows, she seated herself and stared into the hearth, watching the flames as they danced around the stacked logs within. She could feel the weight of Anders’ gaze on her, and she turned her face to look up at him.

  “Do you have any plans today?” he finally asked after a moment.

  “No,” she answered. It was somewhat hard to make plans when you were under house arrest. At least that is what her forced convalescence felt like to her. “Why do you ask?”

  “I was in Lirene’s shop the other day and she asked how you were. She also mentioned that she had some gifts and letters to give to you, from some of the Ferelden refugees that you’ve been helping,” explained Anders.  “I have to see her about a matter, so I thought you might want to tag along with me.”

  Hawke’s face lit up at the thought of escaping another day of restless boredom. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen Lirene. I’d love to catch up with her and see how things are going.” Then Hawke remembered her promise to Fenris and her face fell. “It’s just that…”

  “What? Afraid that your elf won’t approve of you leaving the house with me… _and_ without his say-so?” he asked, then gave a small derisive snort. “I hadn’t realized that you had to answer to him for everything. No matter, I’ll give your apologies to Lirene.” He straightened up and moved a few steps away from the fireplace towards the doorway.

  Taking offense at his smug tone and his innuendo that Fenris ruled over her, she reached out a hand to him. “Help me up, Anders. I would _love_ to go see Lirene.” She took his offered hand and stood to her feet. “I’m a grown woman and can make up my own mind, thank you.” An inner voice started to argue with her, but she told it to shut-up, annoyed that it still sounded so much like Fenris. “And I do _not_ answer to anyone- least of all Fenris,” she stated, knowing that her statement was not exactly true.

  “And I’m sure you would never let anyone goad you into anything, either.” Anders tucked her hand under his arm and gave her a satisfied smile.

  Hawke had the distinct feeling that Anders had just manipulated her into doing what _he_ wanted her to do. However, she was willing to overlook that fact, since she was much too happy that she would be venturing outside to do something that did not include organizing shelves and provisions, rearranging furniture, or reading more dusty tomes. Bodahn kept the estate running so smoothly that there had been little for her to do during her days of recuperation, so she had been hard pressed to find enough tasks to occupy her time with.

  Hawke had not relished the idea of spending another day stuck inside, so she was eager to get going. Anders chuckled at her impatience when she started to pull him along after her, but he quickly matched her stride and they left the manor together.

  Taking in a deep breath of fresh air, Hawke tilted her face to the sky, enjoying the temperate warmth of the late morning sun. She brushed back a stray tendril of her dark blonde hair, tucking it behind one ear as a light breeze caressed her, and a smile of pure pleasure adorned her face as she took in the sights and sounds of Hightown.

  As they walked along the stone paved streets, Hawke was greeted with nods and spoken words of “Champion” or “Messere Hawke” by the various nobles that crossed their path, but very few of the upper echelon of Kirkwall acknowledged Anders’ presence beside her at all. By the time she and Anders reached the outskirts of Hightown, Hawke was glowering and muttering under her breath, and her earlier pleasure of the morning had somewhat diminished.

  “By the Maker, the next person that snubs you is going to get a bolt of energy shoved straight up his or her nether-regions!”

  Anders glanced sideways at Hawke and chuckled. “Though I wouldn’t mind seeing you do that, I don’t think it would be a very good idea, Cat.” He inclined his head to a richly garbed, middle-aged woman and smiled amiably at the freckled-faced boy she had in tow. Ignoring the mage’s simple courtesy, the woman quickly looked away and, tightening her hold on her son’s hand, she hurried past Anders. “I learned a long time ago that apostates aren’t the public’s favorite sort of people- especially those public that have title or money- and, as such, I have developed a thicker skin.” Anders glanced at the visible bulge under Hawke’s robe and raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s what _you_ will need to develop judging by the looks everyone has been giving you. Otherwise, you and your energy bolts are going to be pretty busy.”

  “I could care less what anyone thinks of me,” she replied, yet even to her own ears the words rang false. Hawke had seen the judging looks of some and noticed the disapproving glances of others as she and Anders had walked the length of Hightown. She had even caught the whispered snide comments, and heard the disdainful laughs from a few of the titled nobles as she had passed by. “I don’t care in the least what they think or say…not one bloody bit,” Hawke reiterated as she lifted her head and jutted out her chin.

  Being from Ferelden and being a mage, she had suffered through the disparaging remarks and cruel comments that many of the people of Kirkwall had directed her way over the years, so she doubted that a few whispered comments about her out-of-wedlock pregnancy would drive her over the edge. Even if she had felt any hurt over her past treatment, she was the daughter of Malcolm Hawke. She would do her best to live her life according to his example and try to live up to his legacy; to rise above any hurt or pain and attempt to make some sort of difference in this Maker forsaken world.  

  Anders draped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a small smile. “Just keep saying that Cat, and eventually you will believe it. And maybe, just maybe, if you’re lucky enough, you’ll harden your heart enough where nothing will ever hurt you again.” He gave her shoulder a small squeeze and then dropped his arm.

  “You know Anders,” Hawke said after a few moments of walking in thoughtful silence, “if you harden your heart to the point where you no longer feel the pain, how will you ever be able to feel the love?” She turned her head to look at his profile. “How is _not_ being able to feel love ever ‘lucky’?” If she had followed that line of thinking, she would have never opened herself up to love again and reconciled with Fenris after he had broken her heart.

  Anders turned to Hawke and gave her a long look before turning his head away once again and answering her. “I guess it would depend on who you love.”

  Hawke fell silent again as she pondered his. Sometimes she wished that Anders would just give her a straight answer instead of being so cryptic all the time. She thought again of the woman he had spoke of when they had been encamped on the Wounded Coast, and wondered if Arianna had anything to do with the way he had answered. Hawke looked over to Anders as they continued walking and noticed that he had that closed expression he wore when he did not wish to talk further. Despite her curiosity, she decided that her questions would have to wait, so instead she gave his arm a comforting squeeze and turned the conversation to Lirene and her shop while they made their way to Lowtown.


	19. Chapter 19

The sun was waning on the horizon when Hawke arrived back at her estate from her visit to _Lirene’s Fereldan Imports_. She and Anders had parted ways in Lowtown, for he had to return to his clinic to check on a few of his patients. Anders had offered to see her safely home first, but Hawke had argued with him that it would be pointless for him to have to backtrack and that she was sure that she could manage to find her way home all by herself. She was pregnant, by Andraste’s sake, not helpless!

  Bodahn greeted her with his usual welcome and then inquired how her day had been. She replied that it had been pleasant enough for the most part and then asked if anything required her immediate attention.

  “No, Messere. No letters came for you today, nor were there any visitors while you were out,” replied Bodahn. He paused for a moment and he looked over at Sandal, who returned his look with an innocent smile. “There is something that I should inform you about, Messere Hawke….”

  “What is it Bodahn?” Hawke smiled fondly at Sandal who returned her smile, and then turned her attention back to the older dwarf. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Well…it was just that my boy here, made you something but…” Bodahn paused and gave his mistress an uncomfortable look.

“Boom!” said Sandal in a serious tone.

  Hawke looked back and forth between the elder and the younger dwarf as the two of them exchanged another look. “Well? Is one of you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked.

  “I’m afraid that part of the wine cellar will need to be replaced. Again,” replied Bodahn. He gave a deep sigh and then turned his head to give Sandal an indulgent smile before turning back to Hawke. “I’m afraid my boy wanted to test out the enchanted item he crafted for you before giving it to you. I have removed the debris and salvaged what I could, and I have retained a local artisan to rebuild the wine racks. My sincere apologies, Messere Hawke, but I know that my Sandal intended no harm.”

  Sandal stretched out his hand and offered his gift to Hawke. “ _Enchantment_ ,” he said when Hawke removed the small oval stone from the palm of his hand.

  Hawke inspected the white stone, reading the imprinted runes upon its surface. She looked into Sandal’s widened eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Boom?”

  “ _Big_ boom!” he replied, his voice hushed and almost reverential in tone.

  Hawke held back a chuckle. She did not want to encourage Sandal’s penchant for blowing things up, after all, instead she gave the two dwarfs a reassuring smile. “Well, I guess a handy gift such as this is worth more than a few ruined wine bottles. Thank you, Sandal, but try not to blow anymore things up.”  Hawke pocketed the enchanted stone and with one last smile at Sandal, she turned away from the two dwarfs and climbed the stairs to the top floor.

 Once upstairs, she heard the sounds of movement from within her bedroom. When she reached the doorway, she stopped short and put out a hand to keep her hound from crashing into her as he bounded out of her room. “And just what were you doing in there?” Hawke asked as she reached down to give him a pat. “Getting dog hair all over my bedding again, I suppose.” Ser Dog lowered his head, avoiding her chiding look. Hawke shook her head at the hound. “For such a well-trained Mabari, you have the most annoying habit of doing the complete opposite of what’s been asked of you.”

  “A habit that is shared by his mistress, it would seem.”

  Hawke winced inwardly when she heard Fenris’ voice from behind her. _Andraste’s ass! He knows I left the estate today._ She looked at her dog and muttered. “You could have warned me that the elf was there, you know.” Lifting his head, her hound cocked his head sideways at her, and then gave her a small _woof_ before trotting away. Hawke gave a small sigh and squaring her shoulders, she turned around to face Fenris. __

Hawke’s eyes widened and her heart lurched in her chest when she saw the blood-soaked cloth wrapped around the upper part of his right arm. Her worried eyes met his green ones. “You’re hurt! What happened?” She skimmed over the rest of his body, taking note of the fresh contusions and minor lacerations on his face, but she found no sign of any other injuries.

  “It is nothing, Hawke…merely a flesh wound. I am fine,” he said, trying to relieve her concern. He moved to stand in front of her and raised his hand to brush a loose tendril of her hair away from her eyes. He frowned when Hawke suddenly grabbed his hand and looked at the blood-splattered gauntlet he was wearing.

 “You’ve been fighting, haven’t you? Or should I say you’ve been _brawling_.”

  “Let it go, Hawke.”

  Fenris pulled his hand away and moved past her to enter the bedroom. She turned and followed him, trying to keep her irritation with him in check. Hawke felt he was keeping something from her, out of some misguided notion that he was protecting her in some fashion. She was determined to get the truth out of him, but first she wanted to treat his wound.

  Hawke poured water from the pitcher into a small oval basin and then brought the filled bowl over to where Fenris was sitting by the lit fireplace. She placed the basin of water on the floor at the foot of his chair and dropped a square piece of linen cloth inside to soak. Fenris had removed his gauntlets and other protective clothing and had stripped down to his black leather leggings. His luminescent markings across his bare chest and arms shimmered in the firelight. Fenris gave her a lopsided grin when he caught the quick flare of heat in her gaze, which she was unable to hide. His smile quickly turned to a grimace when Hawke tugged at the strip of blood stained cloth in her attempt to remove it from around his upper arm.

  “So, are you going to tell me how you received this knife wound?” Hawke examined the deep cut in his flesh with a gentle probing of her fingers. She lifted one of her hands to her nose and sniffed at the copper scented blood that covered her fingers.  “Thank the Maker, the dagger used was not coated with any poison,” she said with relief. Hawke raised both eyebrows when she saw his expression. “What? You already knew this?”

  “Their Order generally does not use poisons on their weapons,” replied Fenris.

“ _Order_ … just who did you get into a fight with, Fenris?”  When he did not respond to her question, Hawke hissed in irritation, and then reached down and removed the water soaked cloth from the basin and began to clean his wound. “Fine, have your little secrets and don’t answer my questions, Fenris. Just remember this conversation the next time you want _me_ to answer any of yours.”

  Hawke noticed Fenris flinched when her ministrations to his wound became a little less gentle, but he remind silent. He went to cross his arms across his chest, but stopped when she exhaled her breath in a short huff and ordered him to keep still. Hawke watched Fenris closely; his arm would start to tingle soon from the intense heat entering the wound of his arm. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead when the initial pain, caused by the knitting of his flesh, hit him in full force. Hawke saw Fenris clench his jaw and felt his body tense as he waited for the wave of pain to pass. In moments, his discomfort appeared to lessen and with her hands on his arm, Hawke’s power blended with Fenris’, drawing aid from his lyrium tattoos as she continued with the healing process.

  Anders was by far the better Healer, but her abilities, thanks to her father’s foresight in teaching her the fundamentals, were strong enough to heal injuries such as the one Fenris had received. Hawke closed her eyes and gave herself over to the magic flowing in her. She caught her breath when Fenris’ markings reacted to her magic and her own body began to tingle- a reminder of how connected, and attuned to each other, the two of them really were. She opened her eyes and removed her hands from his arm to asses her handiwork.

  “You’re still going to be sore for a few days and the redness will fade away soon, but you may still have a slight scar, Fenris.” She gave him a tired self-deprecating smile and explained, “My ability to heal is not as great as Anders, I’m afraid, and there are limits to what I can do.”  She took a few steps back when he abruptly rose from the chair.

  “I am glad to hear you say that. Sometimes I fear you push yourself too far, Hawke,” he said, a subtle reminder that she had ended her recovery period early. Fenris bent then straightened his arm as he spoke, and then raised it, testing its range of motion. “There is nothing wrong with knowing ones limits, whatever they may be.”

  “Just be sure you don’t exceed your own limits with that arm, Fenris. Remember, no fighting of _any_ kind at least for the next few days.” Two can play at that game of subtle reminders. She turned to walk away, but found herself hindered from moving when he pulled her into his arms and held her tight against his chest. She raised her head to look into his face.

  “Thank you, _emma vhenan_ ,” he said softly, then dipped his head to further show his gratitude with a tender kiss placed upon her lips.

  Pulling slightly away with a thoughtful frown, she studied his features. Reaching up, she placed a hand on each side of his face, cupping both cheeks. A soft white light, emanating from her hands, illuminated his face as she healed the cuts that marred his face. Within moments, the only marks on his visage were a few faded bruises that would disappear over time. Hawke studied him for a moment longer before pulling his face closer for yet another kiss. No matter how irritated she became with him, she could not resist the strong desire she had for him.

  “So why were you exchanging punches with a templar?” she asked after she ended their kiss.

  “Why will you not let this go, Hawke?”

  “Why won’t you just tell me, Fenris?”

Frustrated, Hawke pushed away from Fenris and moved to stand in front of her wardrobe. She could feel his steady gaze on her, but she did her best to ignore him. She pulled open the doors and then reaching in, Hawke pulled out the first piece of clothing her hand touched and then turned around and tossed it onto her bed. She stood staring at the robe for a few moments, lost in thought, and then made a decision. Hawke turned and faced Fenris.

  “Since you are unwilling to answer my questions, I’ll just have to go find someone else who will.” A trip to the Gallows should yield the answers she sought, but Hawke was hoping that Fenris would not allow things to go that far. She had no wish to run into Meredith…or her brother, for that matter.

  Fenris swore and then scowled at Hawke. “Stubborn mage…” he muttered. “Words were exchanged and tempers became heated, but all has been settled between Carver and me, so please… let it go for both our sakes, Hawke.”

  “ _Carver_ was the one that stabbed you?” she asked, unwilling to let the matter go yet. She was stunned that Carver would actually do such a thing.

  “No, it was another templar who came up behind me unawares. Your brother tried to stop him, in fact…said he was man enough to fight his own battles and gave the other templar a black eye for his troubles.” Fenris smiled at the memory. “Your sibling is not half bad at fisticuffs.”

  “You sound as if you _admire_ Carver.” Hawke shook her head as she tried to reconcile the fact that her brother was the templar Fenris had fought with, yet now all appeared to be fine between the two. As far as she was concerned, nothing would ever be right between her and Carver- not as long as he remained a templar.

  “I respect the man for following his own path, despite what others may think of him. Carver could not stay in your shadow forever, Hawke. He had to grow up sometime.”

“When did I _ever_ hold Carver back from doing, or being, anything he wanted? I would have supported him in anything else, but I will _never_ support his choice to become a templar! I will never forgive him for that, Fenris…not ever.”

  Closing her eyes for a moment, she rubbed her temple. Hawke wished now that she had left well enough alone. She always ended up with a splitting headache and was left feeling bitter and angry whenever anyone brought up Carver’s name. _This is probably why Fenris had not wanted to answer my insistent questions in the first place…to prevent me from getting so bloody upset._ Dropping her hand, she opened her eyes and met Fenris’ troubled gaze.

  “I guess I should have listened to you…but since I didn’t, I’d like to know what Carver said to you. It’s not like you to get into a fistfight over words.”

  Fenris inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a moment before letting it go with a noisy rush of air. “I have told you as much as I am willing to. Trust in me Hawke, and let the matter rest.”

  “I do trust you Fenris…” she said softly, “but I no longer trust my brother.” She was surprised how much it pained her to say those words, but they were true. As long as her brother remained part of the Templar Order and under Meredith’s command, he was a threat to all mages, including herself.

  Hawke went to Fenris when he reached a hand out to her. She took his hand and he pulled her to him for a hug. She leaned her head against his shoulder, relaxing her body against his as she wrapped her arms around his chest. Breathing in his scent, she let the comfort of his warm embrace chase away the day’s irritations and discouragements from her weary mind and body.

  A soft laugh soon escaped her when Fenris, trailing his long fingers up one side of her spine, hit a ticklish spot. She squirmed and laughed louder when his hands found yet another sensitive area, and she yelled his name good-naturedly for him to stop. With an amused chuckle, Fenris finally ceased his tickling when Hawke threatened him with bodily harm, and the two of them drew apart. Grinning, she watched Fenris as he retrieved the used basin to empty, and then nodded her head when he told her he was going to go bathe before the evening meal.

  As Hawke readied herself for her own bath, her thoughts went to Fenris and the changes she had seen in him. When they had first met, he had been so full of anger...so distrustful of everyone- and the broodiness! Maker, the elf had made broody behavior into an art form. He had been hard and sharp- unyielding and deadly like the two handed blades he used. Fenris was more apt to glower and growl, than smile or laugh in those earlier years. And now look at him- playful and laughing, and actually tickling someone!

  She paused in her musings for a moment and looked at the empty brass tub. As a rule, whenever Fenris was around she would have Bodahn fetch and fill her bath for her, instead of resorting to magic. It still made the elf uncomfortable when she used magic in such a casual way, but since he was all the way down on the lowest floor, she decided it was safe enough- and much quicker- to use her magic.

  Calling on her Elemental powers, Hawke stretched forth her hands, palms up, and drew on her inner reserve of mana. She remembered the first time she had ever tried to fill a container with water by using her Elemental Magic; she had inadvertently called up an entire storm cloud and nearly flooded the room with torrential rain! Her father had laughed and shaken his head at her and then handed her a bucket and mop, and together they cleaned up the wet floor before her mother saw the mess. That had been a long time ago, and her father had trained her well, so mistakes of that nature were few, and far, between.

  Hawke softly murmured an incantation and she felt the familiar prickling of her skin, as if tiny jolts of energy were running up and down her body. A small orb of liquid slowly formed above her flattened hands. The water-filled ball grew bigger and larger, as it floated suspended in the air above her palms. Hawke moved her hands upwards and the large orb began to drift towards the brass tub, stopping only when it was directly above its center. With a flick of her wrist, the ball of water fell into the tub, sloshing water over the sides of the tub as it lost its circular form.

  Hawke eyed the small puddle of water on the floor and shook her head. “Well, not exactly my best work, but at least I didn’t flood the place,” she said aloud. In her mind, she could hear her father’s chuckle and his admonishment about her being too impatient and she smiled at the memory. Hawke reached in and tested the water’s temperature with a slender hand. _I may be impatient Father, but you never thought to make the water already heated, now did you? I thought that one up all on my own._ She smiled a smug smile and she heard her father’s laughter, ringing out within the recesses of her mind.

  After stripping off her robe and smallclothes, Hawke stepped into the brass tub and sunk down into the warm, soothing water. The scent of lavender and vanilla surrounded her as she languidly stretched her limbs and sank lower into the tub. She had added the scented oil in hope that it would calm and relax her, and perhaps it worked too well, for after a few minutes, her eyelids became heavy, and soon they closed completely.

  Hawke sat up abruptly in her bath, causing water to slosh over the sides of the tub. She frowned and cocked her head, listening intently. There it was again. The plaintive sound of an infant’s cry sounded in her ears. Where were the cries coming from? Her hands automatically went to her stomach, laying them flat against its rounded shape in a protective gesture. Hearing the infant’s cry again, she stood up from the cooling water and stepped carefully out of the brass tub.

  Without drying off, Hawke shrugged into a dressing gown and belted it around her almost nonexistent waistline. The cries sounded again… surrounding her… fading in and out, coming from everywhere, yet nowhere. Hawke suddenly felt an unfamiliar sensation in her breasts when she heard the child’s cry once again. She grimaced when the odd, filling feeling increased and then she felt a pull and she knew then that her milk had come in. She touched a breast through the fabric of the robe and felt the wetness spread. Confused and alarmed, Hawke began to panic as the sounds of a wailing child continued. She ran to her bedroom door as fast as her expanded girth would allow and, flinging it open, she exited the room.

  Suddenly, the scenery shifted, fading in and then out, and she found herself in a deserted area that looked like Lowtown. _Maker, what is happening to me? What is going on?_ Hawke turned in a slow circle as she gazed about her surroundings. She stopped moving when she heard that same plaintive cry that she had heard back at her estate. She still could not determine from which direction the infant’s cries where coming from, but she knew that somehow she had to find the child.

  Hawke started walking in what she hoped was the right direction. The buildings and the structures, bathed in a strange light that did not appear to come from either the sun or the moon, appeared to fluctuate and shift.  Hawke’s uneasiness increased when she noticed a solitary figure appear in the distance. She stopped walking and stared at the form of the man.

  “Anders? Anders!”  She almost wept in relief when he had come close enough for her to recognize him.

  But something was not right.

  “Anders- are you hurt? Where did all that blood come from?”

  Anders stood before Hawke, looking dazed and unsure. He lifted both his blood-covered hands and stared at them. “So much blood…I didn’t know there would be so much blood…” His voice trailed off and he met Hawke’s eyes with ones that were full of sorrow. “I am sorry Hawke. I never meant to hurt you.”

  Hawke stared at him, her eyes wide and confused. “I don’t understand, Anders… what are you talking about?” She reached out to touch him, to try to comfort him, but he pulled away from her. His expression changed, hardened and it was like looking into the face of a stranger.

  “Without sacrifice and blood, true change will never come, Hawke. Be ready.”

  The wailing cry of an infant pierced the air and Hawke turned her head to look in the direction of the sound. She felt a sharp cramp in her midsection and she grimaced in pain. The cries drifted away and her pain stopped. She turned back to Anders but he was gone.

  “Anders! Please…” she called out, pleading with him to make her understand. Her panic returned in full force and she began to run in the direction of the crying sound.

  Hawke ran through the winding, empty streets, until she could run no more. With hands on both knees, she doubled over and gasped for breath. Standing up she covered her eyes with her hands and tried to blot out the sounds of the crying child that seemed to come from all around her. Yet she could still hear him…still feel him calling to her. Somehow, she knew that the child was a boy. A wind began to blow and with it came the scent of rain. The hairs on the back of her neck stood straight as the feeling of static power grew around her. A storm was brewing.

  Closing her eyes, her hands pressed tight against the sides of her head, she cried out over the howling wind, “Where are you? What do you want from me?”

  Everything became deathly still.

  Hawke opened her eyes and found that she was standing on Sundermount in front of the altar the Dalish had built in honor of Mythal.

  “So, we meet again.”

    Hawke stared at Flemeth. “You! Is all this your doing, witch? Where am I?”

  Flemeth gave her a sardonic smile. “And you call yourself a mage. Do you not recognize the Fade when you see it? This is but a dream, young one.”

  Hawke eyes widened and then narrowed. The Fade! Of course, why had she not seen it before? But what kind of dream was this? It felt different to her. She frowned at Flemeth. “If you are here, it is more than a simple dream.”

  Flemeth moved closer to the altar, hips swaying as she walked, almost slithering as a serpent does before it devours its prey. She stopped and peered intently into Hawke’s eyes. “When is life ever simple? I warned you once that change is coming, Hawke. It is almost at your doorstep. Be ready, young one.”

  “You continue to speak in riddles, witch. Why can’t you speak plainly and stop being so cryptic for once?” Hawke inhaled sharply as a painful cramp hit her.

  “My words are plain to those who watch and see the signs. Change will come…brought about by sacrifice and blood.” The Witch of the Wilds gazed into Hawke’s face and gave her a cold fleeting smile, yet there was a hint of compassion in her darkened eyes. “I see great strength in you, Hawke. Hold on to that, for you will need it for what is about to come.” She turned away then and walked to the edge of the precipice that overlooked Kirkwall. Looking over one shoulder at Hawke she said, “You have my sympathies- still.”

  Hawke doubled over when the cry of the infant rent the air. She clutched her belly until the pain had passed, and then she stood up. Her hands felt wet and sticky, as did the inside of her thighs. Looking down in horror, she saw a pool of blood soaking into the ground at her feet…feet that she could once again see over the sudden flatness of her stomach. Crying out in alarm, she raised her head and stared at Flemeth.

  “There can be no lasting change,” Flemeth said quietly, as she held the blood-covered body of Hawke’s son to her chest, “without blood and sacrifice.” With one last enigmatic look at Hawke, she turned her face to the sky. Then she was gone in a flash of brilliant red light, the form of a great dragon took to the air, taking her child with it.

  “NO!” The single, anguished word pierced the air, torn from Hawke’s shaken, sobbing form, as her legs gave way, and she sank to the ground. Closing her eyes, Hawke gave into the coldness that was seeping into her, stealing the warmth from her limbs.

  “Hawke! Hawke- wake up!” Fenris reached down into the cold water and lifted her out of the tub. “You are freezing, Hawke.” He stood her up on her feet and wrapped her shaking body in a large, heavy blanket.

  “Fenris?” Hawke looked around her, confused and more than a little dazed.

  “You should know better then to fall asleep while bathing, Hawke.” He searched her face, his expression stern and worried. “I heard you screaming when I was coming up the stairs. You almost scared the lyrium markings right off of me.”

  “I’m sorry… I must have been dreaming.” Hawke put her hands on her rounded belly and felt her child move inside her womb. Relieved, she leaned against Fenris, her head under his chin, one cheek resting against his firm chest. “It was a dream…just a dream,” she whispered softly.

  _Only a dream…_ _Then why am I so afraid?_


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 5/18/12: In this chapter (and any following ones) whenever Fenris speaks in the Tevinter language, I will be using Latin. However, I am not a student of that particular language, so please forgive me if the English/Latin translation is not entirely correct.
> 
> As always…BioWare owns everything and I am just happy they let me muddy up their wonderful Sandbox.

For the third night in a row, Hawke was unable to sleep. Her mind was troubled and no matter how hard she tried, she could not put aside the feeling of foreboding that had taken hold of her. She paced in front of the fireplace in the main room, trying to think about anything else but that dream…that nightmare.

  She could still see the image of Anders, his hands covered with all that blood. And his expression… he had looked so full of sorrow and regret, but then at the end… his visage had changed … Hawke shuddered at the memory. But the worst part… the part that had scared her the most, was seeing the bloody form of her child…their _son_ … in Flemeth’s arms. The dream had left her feeling terrified and unsure about what the future may hold for her and for those she loved and cared for.

  After some time had passed, Hawke abruptly stopped her pacing and looked into the hearth. Something had caught her eye. She searched the glowing embers with a puzzled frown on her face. Someone had been burning sheets of parchments in there again. _Why burn their writings? What are they hiding?_ Tiny lines creased her forehead as she pondered who it could be. She finally decided that the only way to solve this mystery was to speak to each one staying here and just come right and ask. _At least that way I’ll have one less thing to worry about. Unless it turns out to be Anders or Fenris…_ she thought, a deeper frown creasing her brow, _because if it is either of them, that means they are hiding something from me… and that will just give me one more thing to worry about._

  Ser Dog, entering the area, padded softly to her side and then sat back on his haunches looking up at her. He cocked his massive head to one side, as if her late night pacing baffled him. Noticing her hound’s presence, Hawke stopped long enough to place an absentminded pat on top of his head, then resumed walking back-and-forth in the ambient glow of the fire’s light. Raking a hand through her shoulder-length hair, she sighed heavily and asked herself why her life always had to be so bloody… _complicated_.

  The _clicking_ sound of a key inserted into a lock drew her attention; she stopped her pacing and turned her head to look through the entrance hall to the main door. The large wood door swung open silently on its oiled hinges, allowing the entrance of a very tall and tired looking, white-haired elf.

  “Hawke?” His questioning gaze on her, Fenris withdrew his key from the lock; leaning wearily back against the door he pushed it shut behind him. “It is late. You should be in bed asleep,” he admonished her with a slight scowl, straightening upright. “You need your rest.” With his typical long strides, he closed the distance between them until he stood directly in front of her. “Why are you still up?” he asked, searching her face with his inquisitive green eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Hawke replied with a small shrug of her shoulders, hoping her answer would suffice. She reached up and gathering a loose tendril of her hair, she began to twirl it nervously around her finger as Fenris continued to study her with an intense, probing gaze. _Maker, why do I feel like he is staring directly into my soul when he looks at me like that?_ She stopped twirling her hair when she saw his eyes flicker to her hand; she quickly dropped her arm to her side. _Keep it together Cat…_ “ _You_ are up pretty late yourself, Fenris,” she said, trying to change the subject and steer the conversation away from her. “Where have you been all day? You’ve been gone a lot during lately. It seems like I only see you at night.”  

  “Why?” asked Fenris, his voice becoming low and caressing as he stepped closer to her. “Have you missed me that much?” He had removed one of his gauntlets and raising a hand to her face, he stroked his knuckles lightly against the smooth curve of her cheek.

 _Holy Andraste’s knickers!_ Feeling the heat rising in her cheeks,Hawke inhaled sharply and promptly forgot how to breathe. And when Fenris’ hand moved lower, his knuckles skimming gently along the line of her jaw and down the line of her neck, she felt another rush of heat – but this time it was centered much… _lower_.

  “Breathe, Hawke…” Fenris murmured. Leaning close to her ear he whispered, “You know…you are not the only one capable of… _deflection_.”

 _What!?_  Hawke’s mouth dropped open in surprise, but soon she regained her composure and her eyes narrowed. “You don’t play fair elf,” she muttered between gritted teeth. She was thoroughly annoyed with Fenris and even more annoyed with herself for not realizing from the very beginning that he had seen right through her feeble ploy.

  Fenris arched a single dark brow and replied, “ _Omne justus in amor et bellum_.” 

 Sighing in exasperation she asked, “Care to translate for those of us who _don’t_ speak the Tevinter language?

  “ _All is fair in love in war_ ,” he replied and gave her a teasing smirk. “I seem to recall a certain mage once telling me this when the two of us first met.”

  Hawke smiled sweetly at him and then said, “Oh? Anders told you that did he?”

  Fenris grabbed her chin between his thumb and index finger and tilted her head upwards slightly, so that their eyes met. “You know very well I was referring to you, my beautiful, headstrong mage.” Leaning in he placed a small kiss on her lips and then let her chin go as he drew back. “I am going upstairs to clean up and change,” he informed her.

   Hawke gave him a silent look. She knew him well enough to know that, without actually saying it, he expected her to go with him. _Pick your battles, Cat_. Her look gentled.  “Are you hungry, Fenris? I can bring you up something to eat if you wish.” She assumed that whatever he had been doing all day did not include him stopping somewhere for a meal.

  “Pardon me for the interruption, but I would be glad to make Master Fenris something to eat and bring it upstairs for you,” offered Bodahn.

  Both Hawke and Fenris turned to look at the dwarf who had just entered the room and stood waiting for a response, his hands clasped behind his back

  “Bodahn, whatever are you doing up at this hour?” inquired Hawke.

  “I was coming from Sandal’s room when I heard you speaking to Master Fenris,” he explained, adding, “My poor boy had a nightmare, he did.” He gave a small sigh and then continued speaking. “So I thought I would see if I could get you anything, Messere Hawke, before I returned to my bed for the night.”

  Hawke gave Fenris a questioning sidelong look, and seeing his brief nod, she returned her gaze to the dwarf and addressed him. “Thank you, Bodahn. That is very thoughtful of you. I’ll leave the particulars up to you, but I don’t think Fenris should eat anything too heavy at this late hour of the night.”

 “Very good Messere, I’ll bring something up shortly.” Bodahn inclined his head and then exited the room.

  Feeling Fenris’ eyes on her, she turned to him with a smile. Her smile foundered when she saw his odd expression. “Fenris?” she inquired softly, “what is it?” She held his gaze and waited for him to speak.

  “I am just not used to someone being so concerned for my welfare, even with such small matters… of someone thinking about my interests, instead of only their own,” he replied with a small shrug of his shoulders. “It is…nice.”

  Hawke stepped closer to him and laid a hand on his chest. “I love you Fenris, of course I care about you and your welfare. You, and anything that concerns you, matter a great deal to me.”  It bothered her that his years of slavery still had such a profound hold on him that he would still feel so unworthy of another’s love and concern. She wondered if he would ever be truly free of his past.

  Covering her hand with his larger one, he gave it a gentle squeeze and said, “I know… and I feel the same about you.” Bringing her hand to his lips, he placed a single kiss upon it before returning it to her side. “Now come with me upstairs, Hawke. We can continue our earlier conversation after I have cleaned up and changed.”

  _So much for my attempt at deflection._ Hawke frowned inwardly at the thought of relating her dream to Fenris. _Next time I’ll have to remember to use the elf’s tactics._ Hawke gave a sigh of resignation and followed Fenris up the stairway and into her bedroom. Hawke seated herself on the divan that she had recently purchased and had placed at the foot of her bed, and watched Fenris as he rid himself of his weapon and protective gear.

  “Are you going to tell me what you’ve been up to lately,” she asked him, leaning back against the foot of the bed. She hated to admit it, but it bothered her that he had not been around as much…and that she had no clue as to the reason why. Hawke waited for him to answer, but when a few moments had past and he still had not spoken, she frowned in irritation. “Are you planning to answer me, Fenris? Or are you simply going to continue cleaning your blade and ignore my questions entirely?”

  Fenris ran the soft cloth in his hand once more down the blade of his large two-handed sword and then inspected its surface; satisfied with his handiwork, he mounted it onto the weapons rack. “I seem to remember saying that we would talk after I finished cleaning up and had changed out of these clothes,” he chided, looking over a shoulder at her. “I am not aware that the plan had changed. Perhaps I am missing something.”

  Hawke studied him for a moment before replying, debating whether to take offense at his tone or not. Seeing the weary way he moved as he tended to his tasks, she made her decision. “I’m sorry… you’re tired and I shouldn’t be harassing you with such questions right now,” she said, apologizing. “We can talk when you are ready, Fenris.” Returning his grateful smile, she settled herself into a more comfortable position on the divan, and silently watched Fenris as he moved about the room. Even though he was tired, he still moved with the sleek fluidity and lightness of foot that marked him as an elven warrior.

  She allowed her gaze to roam leisurely over his lanky form as he stripped down to his smallclothes. Her eyes followed the path of his lyrium markings… from under the bottom of his full lower lip, over his slightly pointed chin, down his long neck and then across the narrow width of his shoulders. Her eyes glided appreciatively across the muscled hardness of his chest and then down the flatness of his stomach and then lower still, over the taunt ripples of his abdomen.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  Hawke’s gaze quickly flew to Fenris’ face and she struggled to keep herself from blushing. _Maker! Why do I suddenly feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar?_ She met his eyes and saw both amusement and desire contained in the look he was giving her. She smiled wickedly at him and answered, “Mmmm… very much. Although…” she paused, running her eyes appreciatively over his body once more before finishing her thought, her voice husky and suggestive, “I wouldn’t mind viewing… _more_ …”

  “Hmmm… would you now?” he murmured, his voice low and deep in his chest. The irises of his eyes darkened to a deeper green as he held her gaze, and he gave her a slow smile, full of promise. 

  Her breath quickened and she caught her lower lip between her teeth when she saw him slide the thumb of his right hand under the waistband of his smallclothes, and give the already loosened garment a small nudge downwards. Hawke was practically salivating with anticipation when another small tug on the item of clothing revealed more of the lyrium tattoos along one side of his lower abdomen.

  A loud knock sounded at her door and she almost groaned aloud in frustration. Lately, every time it looked like she might actually _get_ somewhere with Fenris… inevitably they were interrupted. With great reluctance, she pulled her eyes away from Fenris and looked towards the doorway, annoyed at the intrusion. “Yes! What is it?” she said, her tone sharper than normal.

  “Pardon me, Messere Hawke…” replied Bodahn with obvious hesitance from the other side of the closed door, “…but I…I have the food for Master Fenris.”

  Adjusting his smallclothes back to their original position on his slim hips, Fenris chuckled at Hawke. “You might want to let your manservant in… you did tell him to bring the food up, after all.”

  Hawke shot Fenris a disgruntled look and got up from the divan; she went to let Bodahn in. “Thank you,” she instructed the dwarf with a smile, pointing to the far wall. “Just put everything over there.” He nodded his head and moved to do her bidding. When he had completed his task, she smiled again, trying to make amends for her earlier lack of graciousness, and thanked him one more time.

  “It’s no trouble, Messere Hawke. If there is nothing else you need…” When she shook her head no, he smiled and then inclined his head to her and then to Fenris. “Then I’ll be returning to my room now. Good night, Messere…Good night, Master Fenris.” He then turned and left, the door shutting closed with a soft _click_ behind him.

  Hawke walked over to the desk and examined the food that Bodahn had prepared. “I hope you’re hungry,” she remarked to Fenris, “because it appears by the amount of food here, that Bodahn thinks you’ve grown too skinny.”  With a bewildered shake of her head, she mused aloud, “I dare say, he and I have a completely different understanding of the words, _nothing too heavy_.”  She knew that Fenris could not possible consume all this food… which led her to believe that Bodahn intended her to have some as well. She smiled inwardly- her manservant knew her all too well.

  A tantalizing aroma wafted upwards from one of the covered dishes set before Hawke, and inhaling the appealing scent of rosemary, lemon and roasted chicken, her mouth began to water. Lifting the cover, she sighed at the sight of one of her favorite dishes, and then glanced over at Fenris. Suddenly torn, she did not know which hunger to satisfy first.

  “I am gravely wounded, my love,” spoke Fenris with mock hurt, “that you would choose a bird over me.” His green eyes shone with humor. “And here I thought that it was me you were drooling after… but I see now I was but a poor substitute for your desire for a lemon drenched fowl.”

  Hawke’s soft laughter filled the room and she gave him a teasing grin. “Yes, I’m afraid you’ve been bested by a chicken, my love. But don’t feel too bad, being pregnant has made me perpetually hungry these days. I must be eating as much as a Bronto does.” Laughing again, she rubbed the swell of her belly and gave him a rueful look. If she wasn’t careful, and at least tried to keep her eating under control, she soon _would_ be as big as a Bronto. “Now finish washing up and change… I’ll fix your plate and then we can eat.”

  She turned away from Fenris, and busied herself with making him a plate of food. Keeping the portions to a smaller size, she made sure to give him a sample of all the items that Bodahn had provided for them to eat. Picking up a bottle of wine and a glass with one hand, his laden plate with the other, she walked over to where Fenris was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, and handed everything down to him. Smiling at his word of thanks, she returned to the desk and fixed herself a plate of food. Forgoing the wine with some regret, she poured milk into a glass and then bringing the food and beverage with her, went and sat down beside Fenris.

  For the first several minutes, neither Fenris nor Hawke spoke. Every so often, they would acknowledge each other’s presence with a tender smile or look, while both sought to satisfy the worst of their hunger before resuming any conversation. Hawke was glad for the respite, for she was not eager for Fenris to bring up the subject of their earlier discourse downstairs.

  She knew that Fenris was not oblivious to her change in sleeping patterns, or her change in moods, but she was hoping that he had assumed the cause was her pregnancy, and not her recent dream. Losing her remaining appetite at the thought of discussing that dark and disconcerting dream with Fenris, she began to pick absently at the remaining food on her plate. Lost in her troubled thoughts, Hawke stared vacantly at the logs burning in the hearth.

  “What are you trying to hide from me, Hawke?” asked Fenris quietly. He studied her profile with concern.

  Laying her fork and plate down on the floor beside her, she turned her head and stared at him. Part of her wanted to tell him what she had dreamed, wanted to unburden herself to him and have him alleviate her fears. Yet to do so, would only add to his already numerous burdens and concerns. Fenris was already protective enough of her and their unborn child. Telling him would most likely make him more so, and he was on the verge of becoming overbearing as it was…at least in her view.

  Another concern of hers was the part that Anders had played in her dream. Fenris disliked and mistrusted Anders as it was, so it would take very little for his feelings towards the mage to blossom into a full-blown hatred. She could readily imagine that the mental picture of Anders with his hands covered in blood and his words of apology for hurting her… that alone would send Fenris over the edge.

  “Hawke.”

  She could sense his frustration with her reluctance to confide in him and, sighing heavily, she made her decision. “Do you remember when you traveled with me to Sundermount? That time I had to deliver an amulet?”

  “Yes. To that witch,” he replied, his distaste for Flemeth, evident in his tone.

  “The dream I had…it wasn’t a normal sort of dream. It was more a portent, of sorts. Flemeth was in it…she was there with me… in the Fade.” Dropping her eyes to a spot on the floor in front of her, she avoided looking at him. She could feel the sudden tension in his body as his limbs stiffened, as if he was steeling himself for the worst. “She told me… that change was coming… change that would require blood and sacrifice.” Hawke paused in her speaking, reliving once again those horrible last few moments of her dream. Raising her head, she met Fenris’ eyes. “She was warning me, Fenris…warning me about what was to come. Not just about changes that will happen here…in Kirkwall… or even in Thedas. This time the warning was more…personal...” Her voice trailed off, and she gave Fenris a pleading look, not wanting to go any further.

  “Do not even think of stopping now, Hawke. Tell me the rest,” he ordered her, his voice deceptively soft. His green eyes bore into her, never wavering, his intense gaze keeping her captive.

   Hawke wrapped herself in her arms, as if she was trying to shield both herself and their unborn child from something. “A terrible thing is going to happen, Fenris… something that Flemeth has seen…” she said, almost whispering as her voice trailed off again. Tears sprang to her eyes, filling them until they overflowed. She continued, saying, “It’s our son…something horrible is going to happen to him, Fenris, and...” she faltered again, shaking her head, unable to tell him about Anders’ part and her fear. She flinched when Fenris suddenly grabbed her upper arm in his strong grip.

  “Tell. Me.” Fenris leaned in closer to Hawke, tightening his hand around the arm he was holding. His eyes narrowed and the muscles in his face moved as he clenched his jaws together.

  “…and… I’m afraid that Anders … will somehow be involved,” she whispered in a tortured voice. She watched uneasily as Fenris, releasing her arm, leaned back away from her, turning his face away. _Maker…what have I done?_ Hawke could see that Fenris was furious. Before he had turned to stare silently into the fireplace, she had glimpsed the expression on his face… that same cold and deadly expression that he had worn when he had killed Hadriana… and then later, Danarius.

  It was then that Hawke knew without a shadow of doubt; Fenris was going to kill Anders.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-one**

Fenris sat in front of the hearth in one of the two ornately carved high-backed chairs that he had, together with a small square table of highly burnished dark wood, purchased not too long ago as a gift for Hawke. If someone had told him a few years ago, he would someday be purchasing gifts for a woman-a woman that was a mage, no less-he would have scoffed and thought them completely addled in the brain.

   He had carried the chair across the room and set it down a few feet from the fireplace, positioning it at angle so that he would have clear view of Hawke as she slept.  Staring morosely into the hissing fire, long legs stretched out before him, Fenris’ thoughts were dark and troubled as he mulled over everything that Hawke had relayed to him about her dream… her vision. It had taken every ounce of his self-control to stay passive and silent throughout her narration. His jaw was still aching from the way he had clenched his teeth to keep from letting loose an angry barrage of Tevinter curses when she had related Anders’ portion to him.

  His bitter hatred of the mage was visceral. It had become a living, breathing thing that permeated his very being. His animosity towards Anders was so intense… so thick, it left an unpalatable taste in his mouth. The mage was dangerous and unstable- an abomination, as far as the elf was concerned- and Fenris was not about to allow Anders’ actions to bring harm to Hawke, nor to his unborn child. He would do anything to protect Hawke, to protect his own, even if it meant killing Anders.

  Fenris clenched a fist and muttered a Tevinter curse under his breath, as the anger built in him again. He now knew why Hawke had not confided in him at the outset about her vision…why she had spent the last few sleepless nights alone with her fears. He had watched the play of the strong emotions that moved across her face when she, with evident reluctance, had finally recounted the words Anders had voiced in her dream. He had seen how she refused to meet his eyes and it was then that he had known the truth of the matter. Fenris briefly closed his eyes against the renewed hurt and a muscle in his cheek twitched as he gritted his teeth.

  The truth was simple; Hawke had not told him because she was protecting the _mage_ …her precious _Anders_. Moreover, if he had not pressed her, had given her no choice _but_ to tell him, she would have never had told him at all.

  Leaning back into his chair, Fenris ran a hand through his white locks in agitation, pushing his long bangs further to one side. The light cast from the fire, gave his green eyes an almost unnatural glow as he narrowed them in pensive thought. A soft sigh escaped Hawke’s lips, drawing his immediate attention to her as she moved restlessly in her sleep. Her hand move to cup itself below the roundness of her belly, and he wondered if the child’s movements in her womb were intruding on her slumber.

  His expression softened as he thought of the impending birth of his child. Other than his freedom from Danarius, he had never wanted anything more in his life than to become a father. He gazed at Hawke’s sleeping form again and gave a rueful smile. _Well, almost anything else_. The need to make Hawke his lover and companion had at times overshadowed all other such wants and desires in his life.

  He had given this woman, this _mage_ , his heart…his body… his trust; three things that he had vowed to give to no worker of magic. Yet here he was- willingly bound to the beautiful and headstrong mage that was sleeping, peacefully now, in the bed before him. “The Maker has an ironic and cruel sense of humor,” he murmured aloud with more than a trace of bitterness, “that I would love a mage who stands for some of the very acts and ideals that I abhor most in this life.” He gave his head a rueful shake when he realized that he was talking to himself, something that he had never done until he got involved with this exasperating woman.

  Fenris’ eyes narrowed again as he studied Hawke while she slept. When he had handed her his heart, he had given her the power to hurt him in a way that none other ever had. He had been hurt in an unimaginable number of ways while Danarius’ slave, yet even the deceased magister had not held the kind of power over him that Hawke did. _Love and desire in equal parts… the woman has bewitched me and I have become her willing slave_. Fenris shook his head and thought himself a fool for falling in love with Hawke, for falling in love with a _mage_ , when there was such a fundamental difference in the way that each of them viewed the use of magic. Yet he could not imagine his life without her.

  However, her close relationship with Anders was an ever present reminder that there was a part of her that he would never understand, nor be comfortable with… would never be able to truly accept. “ _Magic_ … I have escaped Tevinter and the magisters, only now to be surrounded by abominations and blood mages, some whom you have gladly befriended,” he said softly to Hawke, knowing she was unable to hear him in her repose. He had been against her friendship with Anders and Merrill, but she had made it clear that she would not forsake them, despite his adamant and ongoing vocal objections of the two mages’ involvement with her. Yet Fenris continued to follow her alongside the spirit-possessed healer and the blood mage, helping her with pursuits that were often contrary to his own beliefs and sometimes against his better judgment.

  Fenris leaned his head back against the chair, turning it slightly to the left, and gazed into the fireplace. Bright yellow and white flames moved and danced, casting flickering shadows across his taut body. Despite the soothing heat radiating from the fire, he was unable to relax the tenseness in his muscles and limbs, nor calm his dark, chaotic thoughts. The muscles of his right forearm flexed as he fisted his hand, absently clenching and unclenching it now and again as it rested against the armrest of the chair.

  The soft rustling of silk sheets caught his attention again, and he turned his head to look in the direction of Hawke’s bed. Hawke, now awake and not finding him in bed beside her, sat up, her eyes quickly darting around the large bedchamber until she spied him sitting before the fireplace. Despite the dim lighting, he had caught the quick look of relief that had crossed her face when her gaze landed on him.

  “What? You expected to wake and find me gone from your life?” he asked, not bothering to hide the irritation he felt. Her fear of finding him gone when she awoke rankled him, even though he knew why she felt as she did.

  “Perhaps it is what I deserve,” she replied in a quiet voice.

  Surprised by her answer, Fenris raised an eyebrow at her but did not respond. He was still too angry.

  “I’m sorry, Fenris.”

  He continued to meet her gaze as she searched his face, his expression remaining inscrutable. He saw her gaze flicker to his right hand as he clenched it into a tight fist.

  Meeting his eyes again, she stated softly, “You are angry.”

  “Yes.”

  “I _am_ sorry, Fenris.”

  “So you have said,” he replied, not giving her an inch.

  Clasping her hands in her lap, she spoke in a quiet voice that did nothing to hide her mounting irritation with him. “I don’t know what else to say… to do, to make you realize just how sorry I am.”

  Lowering his head and closing his eyes, Fenris rubbed the center of his forehead with his fingertips. A long, drawn-out sigh escaped his lungs before he removed his hand and lifted his head to look at Hawke once more. Her clear, aquamarine eyes were still beseeching him to forgive her, and suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to put his anger behind and accept her apology, yet he could not. “ _Sorry_ is but a word, Hawke, a meaningless and empty word that changes nothing.”

  Hawke inhaled her breathe with a sharp _hiss_ and narrowed her eyes at him. “If that is true, then perhaps I was too hasty in accepting _your_ _apology_ for abandoning me that night and,” she retorted in quiet anger, “maybe accepting you back in my life was a mistake as, by your own admission, the word _sorry_ is so empty and meaningless.” She looked at him pointedly and said, “And I do believe you used the word _sorry_ , quite repeatedly during that particular apology to me.”

  “Sorry, only means something if the person’s behavior changes. I have _proved_ that I meant my apology, many times over, Hawke”, he replied, his glare daring her to disapprove his words. “ _That_ is the difference between my apology and the one you have given me tonight.” He cringed inwardly when Hawke started yelling angry epithets at him.

  “You pompous, pointed ear, son of a slave! How dare you tell me that I haven’t proven my sincerity to you! You…you… blue glowing, lyrium addled, closed-minded, bigoted-against-mages, elf!”

  She was so incensed that she spluttered and stammered in her words as she hurled verbal curses at him, and a few of the most colorful phrases she used sounded suspiciously like ones that he had heard Anders yell at him in the midst of one of their many heated arguments.

  Fenris remained furious, yet silent, under the hurtful barrage of insensitive and often untrue descriptions of his character that Hawke verbally flung at him in her resentment. Her heated words, aimed at him like poison arrows, pierced his heart and wounded his pride with an emotional pain that felt almost physical in nature. Once again the thought, brought forcefully to his mind by the hurt of her verbal attack, entered his mind that he had been a fool to fall such hopelessly in love with a mage. Especially _this_ mage.

  But when he heard the words, “hypocritical, sanctimonious elf” and “go suck on a fireball you magic-hater” come out of her mouth, Fenris had had enough and interrupted her tirade.

  “Enough woman!” he roared at her. “I will not sit here and have you fling Anders’ inane words at me as if they were your own!” Leaning forward in his chair with his arms on both rests, he gripped them until his knuckles shone white. “Have you no respect for my feelings at all?” he asked her furiously. He stared at her and noticed with irritation that she did not have the Maker-given sense to look even slightly chagrined at her rather insulting behavior.

  Snapping her mouth shut, her full-lips thinned into a tight line, Hawke glared at him for a moment and then turned her head away with a swishing flourish of her silky-smooth locks. Fenris could only imagine what thoughts were going through that pretty head of hers and when her lips moved with soundless words, he surreptitiously glanced about him to make certain he was not about to be skewed by a bolt of electricity or encased in a cocoon of scorching flames.

  “Well?” growled Fenris. “Answer me.”

  Hawke turned her head back towards him. Her expression was still full of ire, yet mixed in with the anger there was more than a little shame and regret. “Normally, I would answer yes… that I do care very much about your feelings, but after everything I just said, I fear that I may not care enough.” Looking away from him, she sighed heavily and rubbed her temple as her brow furrowed. After a few moments had passed, she met his steady gaze. “And to say that I am deeply sorry at this point would only result in another argument I’m sure, so I won’t bother… even though I am.”

  Fenris stared at her for a long moment but did not say anything. She was correct, anything said now, would only lead to an argument, and he for one, was sick to death of arguing with her. Turning his head away from her direction, he stared moodily into the hearth and did his best to ignore the pain in his heart.

  The night continue to wane into early morning, as each tick of the dwarven-made mantle clock marked the passing of each uncomfortable moment the two of them spent in angry silence. From time to time, Hawke would dare a glance at Fenris, as if she was trying to decide whether to say something further, but would quickly turn her head away again when met with his scowling visage. After several rounds of this infuriating behavior, Fenris finally decided to put an end to it.

  “By all that is holy, Hawke…just say what is on your mind.”

  “I want you to promise me that you won’t do anything to Anders,” she said in a rapid burst of speech.

  Counting silently to ten, Fenris reigned in his emotions and his expression became as hard and cold as the stone that patterned the floor of her estate. “I cannot promise you that- I _will not_ promise you that.” Rising to his feet, he drew himself to full length and stood looking at her, his green eyes darkened by the suppressed fury that almost choked him upon hearing the galling request. “Be warned, Hawke… if anything happens to you, or to our child because of Anders-directly or indirectly-I _will_ take matters into my own hands.” Her widened eyes and the slight parting of her lips as she took a quick intake of breath, left little doubt in his mind that she was well aware of the seriousness of his words and that she understood his warning.

  “You would…you would actually hurt him?”

  “Yes,” he stated in a tone that was deceptively mild.

  “But you wouldn’t kill him… you can’t mean that…” Her voice trailed off and she stared at him, her eyes widening even more at his daunting expression.

  This time Fenris did not answer her- he did not have to. He could see that she finally understood what lengths he was prepared to go in order to keep her and their child safe. And should anyone ever cause injury to her or the child, he would visit upon them such revenge that the Maker himself- if the Maker indeed even existed- would be unable to save their body or soul.

  Unable to bear the devastated expression on her face, Fenris turned away and looked out the room’s window. The night’s darkness was fading; morning would be upon them all too soon, and he had yet to sleep. His weary mind and body was crying out for much needed rest, yet he was hesitant to share Hawke’s bed now. Her next words to him settled the issue.

  “I need to be alone right now. I need you to go.”

  A sliver of cold fear entered his heart at her softly spoken statement …fear that she would want him gone permanently. _No, I have nothing to fear. She said_ need _, not_ want _and there is a world of difference between those two words._ _That is something to hold on to at least._ Fenris turned back to her and saw the pain written across her distraught face before she turned it away, and he knew that those words she had uttered had cost her dearly.

  Fenris quickly dressed back into his discarded clothing and armor, and gathered his sword. With one last, lingering look at Hawke, he turned and walked towards the bedroom door, but stopped when he heard her soft voice.

  “I love you, Fenris.”

  His back still to her, he answered, “I know…and I, you.” He resumed his walk to the door, but once at the threshold, he stopped once again after opening the door. “And that is why this all hurts so much.” Stepping onto the second floor landing, he closed the door behind him and then leaned back against it, his head hanging low.

  Within the bedroom, he could hear not a sound: no swearing, nor yelling of curses, no sounds of shedding tears, nor sobs of grief, only a still and heavy silence.

  And it was her silence that scared him most of all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8/22/12: I finally was able to finish another chapter, despite all the craziness that is going on in my Real Life! I almost forgot to post it here, since I use my FanFiction.net account as the primary one for posting my stories... that wouldn't have been good. Especially, since FFnet is being so picky with what story content and such! Anyhoo... hope you enjoy this and I AM working on the next chapter... really, I am! LOL

Hawke stared at her reflection in the tepid water that filled the large porcelain washbasin. Faint purple smudges darkened the area under her eyes, and her normally sun-kissed complexion appeared paler than usual. _Maker, I look such a fright!_ The tired, distraught woman that frowned back at her was almost unrecognizable to Hawke. Thrusting a long, slender index finger into the basin, she watched her image distort and then fade away under the widening ripples of the water.

  Moving away from the basin with a heavy sigh, she finished her toilette and dressed for the day ahead. Her movements were slow and mechanical, her thoughts miles away and not on the task at hand. When she glanced at the full- length mirror in front of her, she was suddenly startled to find that she was completely dressed, yet she had no recollection of having clothed herself with the garments she was now wearing.

  Her gaze in the mirror moved downwards to the silver girdle that she wore about her turquoise colored robe, and to the two items attached to it. The small non-descript, but sturdy apothecary pouch had been a gift from Anders, a token of his affection and friendship. The other was a beautifully crafted steel dagger enclosed in an intricately stitched leather sheath, a gift from Fenris for her added protection. Pulling the small weapon from its sheath, she held it before her, turning it over and then back again, as she admired the master workmanship of the blade.

  She remembered how surprised-and subsequently annoyed- she had been when Fenris had handed the sheathed dagger to her. They had just finished making love when he had suddenly got up out of the bed and strode naked to the fireplace at the other side of his room. Her focus had been on his tall, lithe nude form, so she had not paid much attention when he reached up and removed an item from the mantle. When he had slid back under the covers beside her, he handed the dagger to her with little fanfare. He had simply looked at her, dismissing her startled expression, and _ordered_ her to carry the weapon at all times.

  Hawke shook her head and smiled faintly at the memory. _Leave it to Fenris to tarnish an otherwise happy moment by giving me a bloody order._ Sighing, she wondered where Fenris was now, and what he was doing. Returning the dagger to its holder, she felt a pang of guilt and a wave of unhappiness washed over her. She needed to make amends with Fenris, to find a way somehow to fix everything between them. _But first, I have to find Anders and speak to him…warn him._ She would never forgive herself if, because of her relationship with Fenris, something terrible were to happen to Anders.

  Frowning in thought, she studied the small apothecary pouch. The tan leather bag contained tiny satchels of dried herbs, vials of healing potions and mana- things necessary for healing and restoration. Yet also within the pouch, Hawke carried vials of poison that, if used, could either debilitate or cause death to an unwary enemy. So depending on the circumstances, her bag could bring either life, or death, to whomever she wished. Running her fingers lightly over the soft leather, it struck her then, the similarities between the gift and the giver. Anders was a powerful healer who harbored an inner Spirit and a power that was as dangerous and deadly as any poison, and like the contents within the bag, he could be an instrument of healing… or an instrument of death.

  Hawke shuddered involuntarily as the cold voice of uncertainty and fear whispered to her to beware of Anders…that he was slipping further away from her into the dark hold of vengeance _. No! I cannot believe that! I have faith in Anders… I_ must _have faith that he will never allow Justice to rule him!_ She shook her head violently, pushing away her doubts and misgivings. No. Anders would never give in to the madness, to the violent impulses and darkness. Nor would he ever hurt her, her child, or any other innocent. She had to believe that, for if not, that would mean that Anders wasn’t the man- the _mage_ \- she thought him to be, but instead he was nothing more than what Fenris had always insisted Anders to be; a dangerous abomination that was better off dead.

 Shuddering at that unwelcome thought and mentally shaking off her feelings of foreboding, she turned away from the mirror. Gathering her staff, she slid it into its holder upon her back and then exited her bedchamber, closing the door firmly behind her. She walked down the staircase to the first floor and stopped in front of the opened doorway to the study. Glancing inside, she gave a short whistle. When she received no response, she looked around the main room and then turned a curious look on Bodahn. “Where’s Ser Dog?” she asked.

  “Ah, he’s still at the barracks with the Guard-Captain. Shall I go fetch him for you, Messere?” inquired the ever-helpful manservant.

  “No, no. He’s probably having great fun showing the new recruits what a war dog can do,” she replied with a shake of her head. She smiled at the bearded dwarf. “I’m sure Aveline will send him home with a big haunch of mutton when she’s through with him. I swear she spoils that hound.”

  “Very good,” replied Bodahn with a small deferential nod to her. He watched her with suddenly wary eyes as she moved to the long desk that held her daily correspondence.

  Hawke picked up a few of the letters and shuffled through them; she quickly scanned a few she had opened in order to determine if they needed an immediate response. Finding a few appeals of a time sensitive nature, she went to place them in the corresponding pile. Her forehead creased in a perplexed frown as she looked over the small piles of messages stacked in neat rows on her desk. There should have been one more pile of opened mail. “Bodahn?”  She turned to face the dwarf and asked, “Where are the other letters?” Sweeping the room with her gaze, she frowned again. “Where are all the inquiries for my help that I’ve been putting aside?  I remember seeing them here on this desk, not more then several days ago.” She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion when, instead of answering right away, he shifted his stance in an uncomfortable manner and avoided meeting her gaze.

  Bodahn cleared his throat a few times and tried not to fidget under his mistress’s scrutiny. Bodahn glanced up to the second floor landing and then back at her. “Ahhh, perhaps Master Fenris might have the answer?” he suggested in a hopeful tone.

  Her face fell for a moment at the sound of his name, but she quickly covered up her pain. “Fenris isn’t here at the present, so I’m afraid I can’t ask him anything,” she replied, a little coolly as she struggled to keep her emotions firmly under control. “And don’t bother suggesting that I ask Anders either, for you know as well as I do that he would never touch any of my mail anymore.” At least not since Anders had _misplaced_ an important missive addressed to her from Knight-Captain Cullen a few years back. Failing to get the letter in time had cost a young templar recruit his life, and when Hawke had found out, she had given Anders such an angry tongue-lashing followed by a week of icy silence, that he had never gone near her correspondence again.

  “Yes, Messere,” replied Bodahn in an apologetic tone, his gaze dropping to the floor in front of him. “I meant no harm… it’s just that Master Fenris…” His words trailed off and he became silent under the weight of his employer’s steady gaze.

  She should have known the elf had something to do with this. Wishing she had tied her hair back, Hawke pushed her nearly outgrown bangs back from her forehead and let out a long, exasperated sigh. Though he refused to move in with her, Fenris certainly treated everything in her home as if it was his, including her servants. Although it was apparent to her that Bodahn was genuinely remorseful about following Fenris’ instructions, she wanted to make sure that it never happened again. She knew Fenris well enough that she was positive that the time would come again when- under the guise that he was somehow protecting her from something unpleasant or harmful- he would feel the need to interfere  in her life, ‘for her own good’. _Andraste’s flaming ass-dimples! Give me strength, Maker… save me from the well-intentioned actions of this elf of mine!_

  “I know,” she finally replied with another sigh. “But if you know something, I expect you to tell me, even if a certain elf has asked you to remain silent.” She waited until the stoic dwarf lifted his eyes to meet hers once more and then stated in a firm but gentle voice, “For the future, when Fenris comes to you, please try and remember that you are under _my_ employment and not his.”

“I understand and I’m sorry Messere, it won’t happen again.”  Squaring his shoulders, the stout dwarf clasped his hands behind him and then admitted, “Master Fenris went through your stack of opened letters and he took the ones you had set aside.” His shoulders dropped and he sighed as if he had just been relieved from a very heavy burden.

  Hawke digested that bit of information for a moment before speaking again. “So, am I to assume that if I took a look at my ledgers, it would show an influx of coin under ‘jobs completed’, although I haven’t accepted any such missions since the one that involved the Tevinter slave traders?”  When he nodded his head in affirmation, she gave a mental shake of her head at how clueless she had been. She should have realized what Fenris had been up to when he had first started to disappear during daylight hours and not returning home until well after dark, often looking worn and weary. She had just assumed Fenris had been taking on mercenary work to support himself, since he refused to take money from her unless it was a loan, or earned, and it had never occurred to her that he might have been taking on duties that she was no longer able to perform in her current physical state.

  Dismissing the servant from her presence so he could continue with his daily tasks, she turned back to the desk to finish sorting through her mail, but her mind was still firmly on Fenris. Turning down all those pleas for help had not sat well with her, and it had weighed heavily on her mind that those citizens might suffer greatly due to her inability to come to their aid. It felt like she was letting Kirkwall down, that she was undeserving of the title, “Champion”, so it would have been a great relief to know that Fenris had been helping them in her stead. Of course, then she would worry about Fenris’ safety, but still… he should have said something.

  “You’re father and I have a lot of things to talk about,” she murmured softly as she rubbed her rounded midsection. “I just hope it doesn’t lead to more arguing.” She looked down as the babe in her womb gave a rather strong kick, causing her first to grunt in discomfort and then laugh. “Well, don’t blame me, little one! Just wait until you meet your father…then you’ll understand completely.” Rubbing her distended belly, she crooned the words of a lullaby that her father had sung to her when she had been a small child, and after a few moments, the babe calmed and ceased his kicking.

  Glancing out one of the tall windows of the manor, she noted the morning hour was growing late and it was a long walk to Anders’ clinic. Smoothing down the front of her robe as she walked, she made her way to front entryway and then exited the estate. She had not gone more then several paces when she heard a man’s voice call out her name his familiar and appealing brogue.

  “Catelynn Hawke! Now where are you off to on this very fine morning that the Maker has blessed us with?”

  Stopping almost in mid-stride, she turned around and waited for Sebastian Vael to cross the area and reach her side. The sunlight glinted off the spotless surface of his impressive white and gold armor, and she marveled at how he always managed to keep it in such a clean and pristine condition. She gave the archer a smile when he came to stand in front of her. She was never that comfortable around him, so her smile was civil and polite but not particularly warm.

  “You are looking well, Hawke.” His smile in response to hers, however, was warm and friendly yet he was careful to keep a respectable distance between them. Sebastian was aware that she often felt ill at ease in his presence and he respected her feelings, although he was not altogether sure just why she felt this way. “I am pleased to see that you have fully recovered from your injuries. You had me scared there for a moment, that it was your turn to meet the Maker.”

  The memory of hearing Sebastian praying for her on that day brought another smile to her lips, one that was warmer in nature. “As was I, and I’m fortunate that the Maker listens to your prayers.” Her expression became serious as her smile faded and she met his gaze thoughtfully. “I never have thanked you for that…for your prayers. Despite the slight…,”she began, pausing for the briefest of moment at the word ‘slight’. The corners of her mouth pulled upwards in a ghost of a smile before continuing, “…differences of opinions the two of us hold regarding the Maker and the Chantry, I hold you in high regard and I am very much grateful for your help, in whatever form you so choose to give it, Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven. Your people’s loss of their rightful prince has been mine and Kirkwall’s gain.”  She could not help that little _reminder_ that he had chosen not to take his place as the ruling lord of Starkhaven, but instead chose to serve the Chantry.

    Hawke smiled again as she noticed the slight stain of crimson that had crept across his cheeks. Her words had actually embarrassed the Chantry Brother! She wondered if his high color was due to her compliments, or to her pointing out the fact that his political and religious views were often at odds with hers. Yet despite his ideals, she mused, Sebastian had not once refused to help her when asked. And come to think of it, she had never refused his call of help either. Maybe they two of them were closer to being actual friends then she realized.

  “I thank you, Catelynn Amelia Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall,” he replied, recovering quickly from his state of embarrassment and surprise. With a flourishing movement of his right arm, he bent his waist into a deep bow before straightening once more. “I am honored that you feel such a way, and the feeling is most assuredly mutual.” His eyes, the vivid blue color of a tropical sea, met her gaze and he gave her a brilliant smile.

  Hawke, like any other female with eyes, was not immune to the handsome Chantry Brother’s charms: She felt an uncontrollable flush of pleasure that she did her utmost best to hide. Sebastian reminded her of the fabled prince or the knight in shining armor that often filled the beloved stories that her father used to read to her and Bethany when she and her sister were young girls. Her younger sister would have been so excited, had she lived, to meet the classically good-looking Sebastian, a real life prince. It was such a shame. Those looks…those eyes… that _voice_...he would have made some lucky woman the ideal lover or husband if not for the vows he took upon entering into servitude to the Chantry.

  Startled from her reflections by the warm touch of his hand on her arm, she gave him a flustered look. “Forgive me, Sebastian… my thoughts must have wandered off somewhere.” She felt a small twinge of embarrassment at the direction those thoughts had taken and her eyes did not quite meet his curious gaze. “Do you mind repeating whatever it was you just said?”

  Removing his hand from her arm, he replied, “I asked if you minded if I kept you company on your walk.”  He chuckled softly at her surprised and slightly wary expression. “You needn’t worry about me acting in an unchivalrous or untoward manner with you Hawke, for the vows I have taken prevent me from acting in such a way.” He laughed even louder when her surprise turned into amazement, followed by mild outrage as she started to splutter.

  “That _-that_ did not even enter my mind, Sebastian!” Groaning inwardly, she suddenly wondered in horror if her earlier thoughts regarding him had somehow manifested on her face. Examining his face carefully and seeing the humor in his eyes, she decided that he had simply been teasing her with that last remark. Then something occurred to her. “But I do find it a bit suspect that you suddenly want to accompany me.” Folding her arms across her chest, she cocked her head to one side and studied him for a long moment before speaking again. “Unless the two of us had been on a job together, you’ve never asked to escort me anywhere before,” she said in an accusatory tone, arching one brow at him, “so why the sudden desire to do so now?” Tapping one boot-shod foot on the stone-paved ground, she waited for an explanation.

  “Perhaps I felt it was high time that we got to know each other better,” he replied smoothly. He hooked the thumbs of both hands onto the wide ornate belt he always wore; its buckle was the image of Andraste’s face, a gift from his parents. “Perhaps I just want to develop a better friendship between you and I, and I thought this would be a good way to start.”

  “Perhaps…” She looked at him, measuring him for a moment before coming to her own conclusion. “And perhaps I was wrong in thinking that those in service to the Chantry weren’t supposed to lie.”

  Sebastian colored slightly at her remark, but his voice was calm and his manner restrained when he spoke. “Firstly…I serve the Maker, not the Chantry-”

  “Pfft. It’s both the same in my book.”

  Ignoring her interruption and the cynicism in her tone, he continued speaking. “Secondly… I am not lying. I simply told you what I felt were the most pertinent reasons for my wishing to join you.”

  “Tsk. Tsk,” she retorted with more than a little sarcasm, “That, my dearest Sebastian could be viewed by some as telling a lie by omission.”  Her lips twisted into a small smirk and she gave him a pointed look. “Something that I am sure the Maker, if not the Chantry, would frown upon one of his avowed servants doing.”

  Unhooking his hands from his belt, he raked one through the thick hair on his well-coiffed head and muttered aloud, “By the Maker, he was right about how badly you would react.”  His color rose when he realized he had spoken loud enough for Hawke to hear him. “Pardon me, Hawke… I didn’t mean…that did not come out right.”

  She knew it! She knew that somehow, some way, Fenris would find yet another way to force his overprotectiveness on her. But now he was enlisting the help of her supposed friends! _Bloody hell_! Annoyed, she glared at Sebastian. “How much has he told you?”

  Backing up a step in retreat, he held up both hands with palms facing her. “Fenris has told me nothing, Hawke. He only asked that I offer to accompany you should you need to go somewhere.”

  Frustrated almost beyond her limits, she shouted, “I am capable of taking care of myself! I am not a child that needs to be watched all the time!” She swore sharply under her breath when she noticed the startled looks of several nearby citizens. She realized she was making quite the scene, and a few of Kirkwall’s upper echelon had congregated closer to where she and Sebastian stood to fulfill their need for titillation and gossip. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself and lowering the volume of her voice she said, “I really don’t want to get into this with you, Sebastian…not now, and certainly not while we’re standing in the middle of Hightown.”

  Sebastian glanced around and then nodded his head. “I understand, Hawke.”

  “Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to be somewhere.”  She began to walk away but his words halted her departure.

  “I said I understood, not that I was going to let you walk through the less reputable part of Kirkwall alone.” He glanced down at her midsection before meeting her eyes again. “Not while you are in such a…delicate condition. What kind of man would I be, if I failed to honor a promise made to a friend? And I do consider Fenris to be my friend…one who is worried not only about the safety of his unborn child, but also of the woman he loves.”

  Hawke let out her breathe in a noisy rush of air as all of her objections become irritatingly futile and useless. How was she expected to remain stubborn, refusing his help when he brought his bloody _honor_ and Fenris’ _love_ for her into the equation? “You don’t fight fair, Sebastian…neither does Fenris.”

  “Does this mean you agree to me accompanying you, then?”

  She sighed again. “Did I ever really have a choice in the matter?”

Smiling, he shook his head. “I think not. I was prepared to follow discretely behind you if you refused my company.”

  “I don’t know who is worse at the moment…you or that stubborn elf,” she muttered under her breath. Hearing Sebastian’s chuckle she gave him an annoyed look. “Well, come on then if you’re coming along.” She noted the position of the sun in the sky and frowned when she noticed it had climbed higher. “Andraste’s bare ass! I’ll never make it to Anders’ clinic before noonday now,” she complained, looking accusingly at Sebastian.

  He returned her look calmly, his tone mild when he said, “I beg your pardon for holding you up, Hawke.” He presented his arm for her to take. “Shall we be off now?” He hid a smile when she refused his arm and instead, turned on her heel and started walking in the direction of Lowtown. Shaking his head, he quickly caught up to her and easily matched her stride.

  After a few moments of walking in silence, Hawke gave him a sidelong glance and asked, “Would you have really followed behind me all the way to Anders’ clinic?”

  “I would much rather have the pleasure of enjoying your companionship walking by your side…but yes, I would have followed you.” He was silent for a moment and then added, “But of course, following behind you would have had one advantage…”

  Hawke turned her head to the side and peered at his profile. “What advantage?”  She gave him a perplexed look when his mouth quirked upwards into a grin.

“Why, the lovely…view.”

 _Maker’s Breath!_ Looking away abruptly away, she decided she really needed to find Fenris… so she could bloody _kill_ him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 10/23/12: Finally! I never thought I’d get this next chapter written and posted! Have to give a great big THANKS to my three “Beautiful Betas” for all their invaluable input and for pushing me to write better and for putting up with my comma fetish. LOL 
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to one of my “Faithful Few” on FanFiction.net (she follows me there AND on Twitter!) who complained in the nicest way that my chapters have been getting too short. (Already knew that- was just being lazy!) NoMadKa, this much longer chapter is for you! 
> 
> And as always, thanks to the BioWare writers of DA for the use of their amazing world and characters!!

The lit lantern above the wooden doors of the worn structure, which housed the clinic that Anders ran, did its small part to help dispel the gloominess that pervaded this section of Kirkwall. The light acted as a beacon, signifying to all that the Healer was inside waiting to heal the injuries and infirmities of anyone, regardless of race or stature, and whether or not they had the coin to pay. No matter the personal cost to him, Hawke knew that Anders never turned away anyone seeking his help. It was this very trait that she found most admirable in her friend.

  Hawke stood looking up at the lantern for a moment and then turned her focus to the partially opened doors of the clinic. She could hear the low murmur of a male voice coming from inside, and then the quiet sobs of a woman. Curious, but not wanting to intrude, she moved closer to the doorway and peeked inside.

  “Sebastian.” She spoke his name softly, and backing slowly away from the door, she turned to face him with a saddened expression. “I think you should go inside. You might be of some use to Anders.”

  Sebastian gave her a doubtful look, but trusting her assessment of whatever the situation was inside the clinic, he nodded once in agreement. He moved towards the entrance but halted at the door’s threshold when he realized that Hawke had made no move to follow him inside the building. With a curious look aimed over his shoulder at her, he inquired, “Aren’t you coming in, Hawke?”

  “Not right now. I need a few minutes to myself and besides…this is your area of expertise, not mine.” She gave him a brief self-deprecating smile. “I can’t remember the last time I prayed for the departed soul of someone,” she said, then paused in her speaking as she thought that was not exactly true - she had prayed for her mother after her death, but that had been different, “Or even for those left behind in their grief,” she continued. “Besides, you’re the one with all the faith Sebastian, so go fulfill some of those vows that mean so much to you.”

  Hawke watched Sebastian as he pulled the door open wider and walked inside the clinic. Her eyes followed him as he moved across the sawdust and dirt covered floor, until he reached Anders and the older dark-haired woman he was quietly comforting. Her gaze moved to one of the examination tables that held the unmoving, half-covered form of a young man that looked to have seen no more than seventeen or so birthdays. The blood-soaked linen draped over his mortally wounded body did little to conceal the severity of the wounds, for the blood had seeped through to the table and the floor beneath. Hawke knew better than anyone that even magic had its limitations… that even the most powerful mage would not always be able to save someone from death and the Beyond. At least those mages that did not resort to blood magic and necromancy, she thought with a slight shudder. Closing her eyes for a moment, the image of her mother filled her thoughts, touching her with a brief moment of deep sadness. She could still remember the feel of Leandra, cradled in her arms, as the necromancer’s blood magic that had sustained the unnatural life force within in her faded, leaving nothing behind but the desecrated form of the woman who had once been the mother she had loved and had tried so desperately to protect. _Even with all my magic, Mother…I still couldn’t save you._

  She opened her eyes, forcing herself to put away those memories in order to concentrate on the here and now. Hawke noticed that Anders had left the distraught woman in the care of Sebastian, and had moved to the large wooden table that held the body of the deceased. She watched as he removed the stiff, blood-soaked covering from the young man, and then dipping a clean rag into a nearby basin of water, he gently and carefully began to wash the body, removing all traces of blood and filth.

  Ander’s face wore a determined expression as he went about his ministrations, yet Hawke, knowing Anders as well as she did, was certain that behind the clinical mask he assumed as the Healer was a man that was feeling great sorrow, and probably some misplaced guilt as well, over the young man’s demise. _You and I both know that despite everything that we do, not everyone can be saved… But even understanding this truth, it never makes things easier, does it Anders?_ With a heavy sigh, she turned away from the doorway and walked over to the guardrail, leaned against the rough wooden support, and then looked out unseeingly into the distance, allowing her thoughts to run where they may.

  After some time had passed, Hawke suddenly felt that peculiar sensation on the back of her neck that she often got when someone was watching her. Frowning in irritation, she turned abruptly around to confront her silent observer. “You know I detest it when you sneak up on me like that and just stand there ogling me.”

  “ _Ogling_ you?!” Anders snorted and folded his arms in front of him. “First of all, I don’t _ogle_ women. Cast an appreciative glance now and then, yes… but ogle? Never!” he replied in an affronted manner. “And secondly, I wasn’t _sneaking_ ; I was standing here, not wanting to disturb your introspection. I call that being considerate, not bloody sneaky.” He unfolded his arms and glowered at her. “I suppose I have _you_ to thank for Chantry Boy’s presence.” He then muttered under his breath, “I am able to handle things in my own clinic, thank you very much.”

  Hawke just rolled her eyes at him and tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile as Anders shot back an annoyed look at her. “I know you are completely capable of handling things, as you put it, but I thought Sebastian might be able put his religious views to use and give some comfort to that poor woman.” She smiled at him again in amusement when he gave a loud and derisive snort. “Not everyone in Kirkwall sees the Chantry and its teachings in the same light as you and I…some actually find solace in the doctrines of the church and in their own faith in the Maker.” She looked over one of his broad shoulders into the clinic at Sebastian and the woman as they stood together conversing, the woman nodding her head every now and again at whatever Sebastian was saying to her. Hawke thought the woman looked…more at peace now. Lost in her musings, she continued to stare thoughtfully at the Chantry Brother.

  “Please, Cat…” Anders said shortly with a small groan, “not you too! _Please_ tell me you haven’t fallen for all that holy dribble-drabble he is constantly spouting off about!”  Turning towards his clinic he glanced inside at the archer, then turned back to look at Hawke. “Blighted balls, Cat! You’ve turned into every other blasted female in Kirkwall! You have gone and fallen for that holier-than-thou Choir Boy and believe all the stuff he’s peddling,” he said in an accusatory tone. He shot her a look of mild disgust. “Don’t try to deny it… I have two eyes and can _see_ that your previous opinion of him has changed more than a little.”

  Hawke was not sure if the sudden warm flush that was spreading across her cheeks was the result of anger…or embarrassment. She decided that it would do her well not to dwell too closely on the cause of her heightened color at present time. “Anders, once again you’re making a mountain out of an ant hill,” she replied in exasperation, throwing up her hands in dismay.

  “I wouldn’t call you wanting to sleep with the man an ant hill sort of revelation.”

   Hawke started choking on her own saliva. When she finally stopped coughing, she stared at Anders in amazement. “Have you gone completely around the bend?! I would have sex with _you_ before I would _ever_ sleep with Sebastian. He’s not my type at all Anders- don’t be so daft.” Then she added almost as an after thought, “Besides, we have absolutely _nothing_ in common.”

  “Not her type…nothing in common she says,” he muttered to himself and the stale air around him as he uncrossed his arms. “I suppose the mage-hating elf you are currently sleeping with is _exactly_ your type and you both share so many wonderful things in common,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “So pardon me if I don’t find your reasons for _not_ sleeping with Sebastian all that compelling.”

  Hawke opened her mouth to give him a scathing retort, but snapped it closed again when the sound of a man clearing his throat gained her attention. She looked past Anders to see Sebastian standing in the opened doorway of the clinic, and she thought she caught a look of amusement on his face but when their eyes met, she saw only an open and friendly expression. Praying inwardly that he had not heard any part of that ridiculous conversation between her and Anders, yet knowing that he clearly had, she decided to simply act as if he had not heard a thing. Being in denial could often be a good thing under the right circumstances. She gave him a polite, but somewhat awkward smile and then asked, “Sebastian…is everything alright with…?” Hawke voice trailed off when she realized she did not know what to call the woman.

  “Elisbeth,” he said, providing her with a name. “And yes, she is doing fine, considering the circumstances.” He gave Hawke a brief smile before turning to look at Anders. “She wishes to speak to you again for a moment, Anders,” his tone was civil but laced with more than a little cool displeasure.

  Hawke could tell that Anders was not pleased with the tone that Sebastian took with him by the way his eyes narrowed and his normally full lips almost disappeared into a tight, thin line of tension. Trying to forestall any further conflict between the two, she caught Anders’ eye and, with a slight shake of her head and a look that he was well acquainted with, she silently warned him to behave. For her effort she received yet another glare from Anders, but to his credit, he held his tongue, and with no further word or glance at either herself or Sebastian, he turned on his heel and walked back inside his clinic. An awkward moment of silence passed while the two of them stood looking at each other.

  “You don’t like Anders very much, do you?” Hawke asked bluntly, finally breaking the silence between them.

  His answer, when he spoke, was equally blunt. “No. To be quite honest, I do not like him at all.”

  “Well, at least the feeling is mutual. He doesn’t care much for you, either,” she replied mildly, giving a small chuckle. Hawke knew why Anders felt the way he did, but she was curious as to the reasons for Sebastian’s dislike of Anders. Although, she probably could hazard a few guesses and would probably be fairly correct in her assumptions. She studied his face thoughtfully. “Why?”

  “Why…what?” Sebastian asked, wrinkling his brow. Not being privy to her thoughts, he was slightly confused as to what she was asking him.

  “Why don’t you like Anders?”  

  His forehead smooth once again, Sebastian gave her a wry smile. “Seeing as our friendship is tenuous at best, and as you and Anders are such close friends… I am not altogether sure it would be prudent of me to answer that particular question.”   

  Hawke’s eyes took on a far away look and she spoke softly, almost as if speaking to herself. “ _A man should be judicious in all things…”_

“… _even when speaking the truth_.”  Sebastian smiled at Hawke’s surprised, then questioning, look. “Yes, I know that saying well. It was one that was oft repeated to me as a young lad while sitting at my grandfather’s knee.”

 Smiling at the image that his answer evoked, she replied, “It sounds as if my father and your grandfather were both students of the same school of thought.” She gave a small laugh and shook her head at herself.  “My poor father spent _years_ trying to drill the meaning of those words into my head, but I’m afraid something was sadly lost in the process.” She laughed again at herself. “I’m sure both Aveline and Fenris would vouch for that.”

  “Unfortunately, I am afraid much of my youth was spent in pursuits that clearly showed my lack of judiciousness, to Grandfather’s- and parents’- great displeasure…” Sebastian paused slightly as a grin threatened to form, “So it would seem, Hawke, that you and I have something in common after all.”

  Hawke groaned inwardly as a warm flush spread across her cheeks, and she tried to remain calm, determined to ignore the distinct glint of humor she saw in his eyes. _Denial, Cat. Remember…being in denial is the key._ Refusing to comment and giving him an uncomfortable smile, she looked hastily away from him, instead settling her gaze on Anders as he stood talking with Elisbeth. Furrowing her brow, she decided that it was a good thing Anders was a healer and still in his clinic, because after she was through with him, he would be in serious need of both.

  “What in Andraste’s name, could they still have to talk about in there,” she said irritably after a few moments had passed, but then felt completely ashamed of herself for her bad humor when she saw Sebastian raise an eyebrow at her. She had been standing still much too long and her feet and lower back were starting to pain her, so she decided to blame her less than charitable mood on that, instead of on the lingering remnants of embarrassment she was feeling. With a heavy sigh, she began to rub the small of her back, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in order to lesson her physical discomfort.

  “Are you feeling alright, Hawke?” Sebastian gave her a concerned look, moving nearer to where she stood by the guardrail.

  “I’m fine,” she replied tersely as she rubbed her lower back again. She was so bloody tired of everyone asking her that question.

  With a small sigh, Sebastian moved to her side, and grasping her elbow firmly with his hand, he said, “Forgive me Hawke, but I can see that you are in some discomfort, so perhaps it would be best if instead of being stubborn, you went inside and took a seat.”  Pulling gently on her arm, he attempted to lead her into the clinic, but she balked at his lead and gave him an annoyed look for his effort.

  “You are treating me like a child again, Sebastian. I think I can manage to walk inside under my own volition. I do not require any help or guidance from you.” Giving him a haughty look, she pulled her arm from his grasp and strode away from him towards the entrance of the clinic.  

  Following a safe distance behind, Sebastian shook his head and offered up a silent prayer on Fenris’ behalf, asking the Maker to impart a little more of His Grace to the elf. Dealing with Hawke and her stubbornness, he felt Fenris could use all the help he could get.

  Hawke entered Anders’ clinic and headed to the back of the room where she found an old, but sturdy low-backed chair placed near one wall. Removing her staff, she set it against the wall near the chair then sat down, stretched out both legs before her, leaned back and sighed with relief at being off her feet. She soon felt something nudge one of her outstretched legs, and looking down she saw a small, grey striped cat rubbing its head against her foot. She struggled to lean forward, but her expanded girth kept getting in her way. With an annoyed huff of expelled air, she leaned instead to one side and called the cat closer to her reach. She gathered the fluffy creature into her arms and then sat back with a satisfied smile. “You must be one of Anders’ strays,” she said to the purring cat as she rubbed the top of its head. “I haven’t seen you around here before, little one.” The petite cat just purred louder and calmly blinked a pair of blue feline eyes at her.

  “I see you’ve met little Cat,” said Anders, suddenly appearing in front of her chair. He smiled fondly at the cat and then said, “She wandered into the clinic one night, about a week ago, and it would appear she has decided to stay.”

  “She’s been here a week, and you haven’t come up with a name for her yet?”  Hawke rubbed her nose against the soft, furry side of the young cat’s face. “Don’t worry little kitty, I’ll give you a name.”

  “She _has_ a name. I named her after you- Catelynn, or _Cat_ for short.”

  Hawke gave him a dubious look. “You named the cat after me…”

  Shrugging his shoulders, he replied, “Yes, she reminded me off you. She’s the smallest cat here, but when the others tried to run her off, she refused to go and stood her ground.”  He chuckled and gave the small, fluffy cat another fond smile. “They rest of the strays here have learned to respect her and they tend to stay out of her way now.”

  Holding her namesake with both hands, she lifted the cat to eye level. “That’s right, you show those other bullies that you are not to be trifled with, little one.” She laughed when the cat gave a loud meow as if in agreement.

  Anders reached down and removed the feline from Hawke’s hands. “Here, give her to me. It’s not a good idea for you to be handling any cats in your condition, especially these strays.” Looking at the young cat, he held her aloft, his two hands gripping the cat’s midsection. “I’m sure you clean yourself well, but we can’t take a chance you might pass on something to her unborn child.”

  Hawke burst out laughing when the grey striped cat reached out a tiny paw and batted Anders on his nose, causing him to yelp in pain. With a loud hiss, the disgruntled feline squirmed out of Anders’ loosened grasp and leapt to the floor. Landing gracefully on all four paws, she strode away with her head up and her long tail held high behind her.

  “Just see if you get any cream tonight for your supper, you bloody fur ball,” grumbled Anders to the departing cat as he rubbed his stinging nose with his fingers. “Look! Her claws drew blood,” he complained to Hawke as he showed her the faint stain of red on two of his fingers.

  Hawke chuckled and shook her head. “Stop whining, Anders; it’s just a little scratch. Maker, you even manage to annoy female cats with the things that you say.”  

  “Hurmph. I think that ball of fluff is more like you than I first thought. You both are overly sensitive and much too prone to showing your claws over the littlest thing.”

  “Said the _lion_ to the cat…” She gave him a pointed look as she arched one brow at him. “Now go put some of those antiseptic salves you have on that tiny scratch of yours, but before you go do that, lend me a hand getting up out of this low chair.” Reaching up she grasped his hand with hers and allowed him to pull her upwards out of her seat.

  “So tell me, Cat…how have you been feeling?” Studying her face, Anders placed his hand, with fingers splayed wide, on her rounded belly. “Not that I’m trying to change the subject…” He gave her a small grin, but then his expression turned serious. “You look tired.”

  “I haven’t been sleeping too well the last few days,” she admitted to him. “That’s actually part of the reason for my visit to you today.”

  “And Chantry Boy? Does he have anything to do with your visit?”

  “No. That’s Fenris’ doing. He doesn’t want me wandering around the city alone.”

  “So why doesn’t the elf just accompany you himself then?” he asked, his eyes focused on his hands as they moved over the swell of her midsection. “It’s a bit odd, if you ask me.”

  “Well, I didn’t ask you, and Fenris would if he was here.”  She felt Anders’ hands suddenly still and she inwardly chided herself for imparting that piece of information to him.

  “Here?” he echoed the word, meeting her eyes. “He’s not in Kirkwall?”

  Hawke did not know if Fenris was in Kirkwall or not, but she was not about to tell Anders that she had no clue to her lovers’ whereabouts. When Anders began to move his hands over her belly once again, that gave her a reason to change the subject.

  “What exactly are you looking for Anders?” She winced when the babe gave a strong kick. “Andraste’s flaming bloomers… You woke him up and now he’s kicking up a storm.” Perturbed at Anders, she rubbed the spot her unborn child had just kicked.

  Anders gave her a surprised look. “How the blasted did you know it’s a-” He abruptly stopped talking and frowned at her for a moment. “You couldn’t have known. I never told you what I surmised after healing you that last time at the Wounded Coast, and I wasn’t even sure until just now…” He gave her a strange look.

  “Is everything all right?” As he approached them, Sebastian’s gaze flickered downwards to Hawke’s midsection, taking in the placement of Anders’ hands.

  Removing his hands from Hawke, Anders turned to face Sebastian and crossing his arms in front of him, he looked at him with a guarded expression. Hawke, turning as well, gave the Chantry Brother a small smile before answering.

  “Everything is fine, Sebastian.” Peering around him to view Elisbeth, she asked, “I assume you were able to help Elisbeth deal with her sorrow?”

  He nodded his head. “I have promised her that I would help with the funeral arrangements for her son. Like you, Hawke, she is originally from Ferelden, and she informed me that your custom is put the deceased on a funeral pyre instead of burying them in the ground or placing them inside a stone burial chamber.”

  “What? Is the Fereldan burial rite too barbaric for your princely tastes?” mocked Anders, ignoring the look of warning Hawke shot sideways at him.

  “Not at all, Anders. It is our souls…our spiritual selves that shall travel on to the Beyond, not our physical bodies, so I do not think the Maker cares which method is ultimately used to lay the dead to rest.”

  Hawke met Sebastian’s gaze, pleased at his response. “Well, said Sebastian…and such a _judicious_ answer.” She gave him a teasing half-smile and then added, “It would appear that your grandfather’s lessons weren’t wasted on you after all.”

  Sebastian inclined his head to her, giving her a conspiratorial grin. “Yes, so it would appear. Perhaps there is still hope for the both of us yet.”

  “Perhaps there is.” Hawke, feeling Anders’ gaze on her, shot him a look sideways. The disgruntled expression he wore brought a quick smile to her face, which only seemed to annoy Anders further. She decided that Sebastian had probably over stayed his welcome and that she had better send him on his way before Anders became his usual incorrigible self. Looking past Sebastian to the weary and tear-streaked face of Elisbeth, she could tell that the heartbroken woman was close to reaching the end of whatever physical and emotional strength she still possessed.

  Turning to Anders, she placed a hand on his forearm and asked if he would give her a moment alone to speak with Sebastian. To her surprise, he acquiesced to her request without the expected cheeky comment or remark, and without any other impertinent gesture on his part, which only led Hawke to believe that she would get an earful once the two of them were alone.

  Hawke waited until Anders was out of earshot before she started speaking.  She had been wondering about Fenris and she hoped that Sebastian would be able to enlighten her about his whereabouts. Her heart plummeted lower in her breast when she heard Sebastian’s answer.

  “I’m sorry I cannot be more help, Hawke,” he said, his soft brogue becoming more pronounced in his discomfort, “But I honestly do not know where Fenris is. He did not tell me of his plans, but only asked that I keep an eye on you for him, and I did not feel it would be prudent for me to question him while he was… in the state of mind that he was in.”

  Hawke stood silent, her eyes downcast as she struggled to contain her tears of frustration and disappointment. She felt the hesitant touch of Sebastian’s hand on her shoulder and she lifted her gaze to meet his look of concern. “I’m sure Fenris will show up eventually,” she said with a quiet sigh, placing a hand on her rounded belly. The corners of her lips turned upwards in the semblance of a smile that faded almost as soon as it appeared. “I’m just…worried about him.”

  “If you wish, I will ask around Kirkwall…see if I can find out anything about his whereabouts, Hawke.”

  Hawke shook her head. “No, that isn’t necessary. Besides, you have Elisbeth and her son’s funeral to deal with, Sebastian.”  She looked at the woman in question as she stood speaking quietly with Anders. “Is there anything that I can do for her, Sebastian?” she asked, returning her gaze to his face.  

  “I will certainly let her know of your offer to help, but I think that is sufficient that you cared enough to ask about her welfare, Hawke,” he replied. “Sometimes the Maker’s love for his children shines the brightest through the smaller acts of kindness.”

  Hawke returned his smile but did not offer a comment, although to herself she wondered if the Maker still gave a bloody care about his mortal children, one way or the other. Unlike Sebastian, she stored little faith in the love of an absent deity, but she did agree with the notion that even the slightest of gestures could often make the biggest impact on someone’s life. Malcolm Hawke had drilled it into his children that it did not take much effort on one’s part to show someone that you actually cared about his or her problems, and he had lived his life based upon that premise.

  “Hawke, I’m not sure how long I will be tied up with Elisbeth and the preparations for the final departure of her son, so I have asked Anders to make sure that he sees you safely back to your estate.” Frowning, he glanced over at the mage who was watching them both. “He has agreed, though I have the same misgivings that Fenris has about Anders… yet I would not see you travel on your own.”

  Hawke looked over at Anders, who was now holding one of the strays in his arms. He arched one of his brows at her when she met his gaze. Sighing, she turned her attention back to Sebastian. “I will be fine, Sebastian. You and Fenris may not trust Anders, but I do- and frankly, my opinion of Anders is the only one that matters at the moment.”

  Sebastian inclined his head to her in a silent gesture of surrender, before turning and walking away towards the clinic’s entrance where Elisbeth was waiting for him. He stopped and turned back when Hawke called out his name.

  “Thank you for caring,” she said sincerely. She smiled when Sebastian, with a regal flourish, bent at the waist in a deep bow. She laughed softly at the sudden urge she had to curtsey before the displaced prince. She thought, not for the last time, how he would have been the kind of devote and compassionate ruler that Starkhaven so desperately needed, if not for the vows he had made to the Maker and to the Chantry. She continued to watch Sebastian walk away until he exited through one of the clinic doors, then she turned around to face Anders.

  “Alone at last.” Anders gave the calico cat in his arms a final pat before setting it down upon the floor at his feet. “Shoo, now…go earn your keep and catch a mouse or two.” He watched the large cat amble away before turning his gaze on Hawke.

  She studied his impassive expression, trying to determine what was going through his mind. Anders dislike for Sebastian was no surprise to her, but his reaction to her interactions with the Chantry Brother was unexpected and bordered on jealousy- and that worried her.

  Moving to one of the empty examination tables that stood nearest the center of the large space, she eyed its height and immediately become doubtful of her ability to seat herself upon its flat surface. She missed her former agile and much slimmer body. Turning around she was startled to find Anders standing right in front of her.

  “Need help?” Without waiting for a response, he placed his hands under her armpits and lifted her easily up onto the wooden table, setting her down with her backside firmly seated in a sitting position. “It’s a good thing I’m stronger than I look,” he said, teasing her as he removed his hands, “elsewise I might have buckled under the strain.” He yelped in sudden pain as her fist connected with his flesh. Rubbing the soreness away from the bicep of his arm, he grinned. “Joking…I was _joking_. Sheathe those claws of yours, Cat.”

  “You deserved more than a punch in the arm, if you ask me. You can be such a bloody ass at times Anders,” she replied lightly as she adjusted her robes so that they were no longer bunched up under her. “Next time, give me some warning before you hoist me up like a sack of potatoes.”

  Anders gave her an easy grin and then moving to one side of her dangling legs, he leaned his hips back against the edge of the examination table, and crossing his arms in front of his chest, he stared straight ahead. “So, are you going to tell me what prompted this visit? Or am I supposed to play twenty questions and guess?”

  Hawke did not answer right away. Now that the two of them were alone, she was unsure as to how to begin. What if by telling Anders about her dream, and about Fenris’ threat to harm Anders only made things worse? No, she had to warn him to at least to be more wary of Fenris so he would not be blindsided should the elf decide to confront him.

  She studied his profile as he continued to stare straight ahead, his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Lines etched deep around his eyes and mouth told her how tired he was, and there was an air of sadness about him. She placed her hand on his shoulder and when he turned his head to look at her, she saw the inner pain he was feeling over the loss of his patient.

  “I’m sorry Anders, but you did the best you could for the boy,” she said gently. “You must not blame yourself.”

  “I know. By the time he had been brought here, he had already lost too much blood and there had been too much damage to his vital organs.”  He turned his head away again to look out into the distance. “You would think it would get easier after all this time, losing a patient…but it never does.”

  She gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. “That’s because you never stop caring, Anders. That’s what makes you such a good Healer…that’s what makes you such a good man inside.”

  “The only thing inside me is a bloodstream full of darkspawn taint and a vengeful spirit by the name of Justice.”

  Hawke heard the trace of bitterness in his voice, and she wished she could somehow alleviate his pain or help banish his inner demons, but she could not- only he had the power to do such a thing. The only thing she could do was to be there for him, to continue to be his friend and to love and support him unconditionally.

  And to let him know when he was being an insufferable ass.

  “The becoming a Warden thing, may not have been by your choice, but merging with a spirit from the Fade was all you- so stop feeling sorry for yourself and just deal with it, Anders.” She heard his quick intake of breath and felt his muscles stiffen under her hand on his shoulder, but she would show him no mercy. She would not allow him to wallow in self-pity or to sink into the muck and mire of despair or hopelessness. She loved him too much to let himself be ensnared by the trap of self-defeat. “Take a good look around you, Anders…you have made a difference here in Kirkwall. You have made your healing talents available to everyone regardless of their class in life, regardless of their lack of coin. You have helped saved the lives of countless mages and have helped them regain their freedom, despite the danger to yourself.”

 Anders’ shoulders slumped and the tension left his body as he lowered his head to gaze at the floor at his feet.  “But what if all that is not enough?” he asked her quietly.

  Puzzled by his question, Hawke continued to study his profile, not sure how to answer him. Lifting her head, she looked up into one of the tall, narrow windows set high in the walls of the clinic. A dim shaft of sunlight pierced the dusty pane, and she watched as motes of dust caught in the warm ray, swirled around in lazy circles. The day was waning fast and she had yet to speak to Anders about her reason for being here. With a small sigh, she decided that she might as well just get it over with before Anders slipped further into his weird mood, and was unable to focus on what she had to tell him.

  “Anders… I need you to promise me that you’ll stay clear of Fenris for the time being.”

  Anders gave a small snort. “Why? What has that lyrium-addled elf imagined that I have done now? What imaginary slight has he lain at my feet this time?”

  She frowned at the humor she heard beneath the sarcasm in his voice. “Anders! Please stop talking and take what I am about to say seriously… this is no joke!” She gave an exasperated sigh and removed her hand from his shoulder, placing it upon her lap. “Fenris has all but promised that he will harm you if need be- he will kill you Anders.”

  “So what else is new,” he remarked dryly. Uncrossing his arms, he straightened up and turned his body to the side to look at her. “It’s hardly a surprise, Cat. The elf is always threatening me during his fits of jealousy with some sort of bodily harm. I’ve grown immune to his idle threats.”

  “Will you just listen for a change!?” she asked angrily. “This time is different- he means to kill you if something happens to…” her voice trailed off as she tried to figure out how to explain things to him in a way that did not sound so bloody crazy.

  “To…? What? To _you_?” he asked her, both brows raising high into his forehead. “The blasted elf has gone blighted mad if he thinks I would ever do anything to harm you- or the son you carry.” He looked at her in anger and with more than a little hurt. “It’s Fenris and his mage-hating ways you should be worrying about- not me.”

  Frustrated and angry at his attitude, and tired with the whole situation she found herself in, she fought back in a most underhanded way. “If you love me like I _know_ you do Anders, _please_ just shut up and listen to me!” She hated using his love for her in this way, but she needed him to take the matter seriously.

  “Low-blow, Cat…even for you,” he grumbled as his color heightened. Closing his mouth, he pressed his lips into a thin line and said nothing further.

  “Before I go any further, just let me say that _I_ know that you would never do anything to harm me,” she told him, “But Fenris… he believes otherwise. And the worst part is…it is because of me…because of something I told him.” She caught Anders’ look of unbelief and surprise. “It’s all because of a bloody dream.” A _nightmar_ e more like it, she thought. Seeing the look of skepticism on his face at the mention of a dream, she shook her head at him. “No, don’t look like that, Anders. It was more than just a dream.”

  She turned her face away as the images of Anders…Flemeth…her bloodied son, swirled around in her mind. She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat as the fear and panic she had experienced in her dream threatened to overtake her once again. She looked into Anders’ concerned face when she felt the warmth of his strong hands as they covered the ones clasped together on her lap. “You see, it was much more than a dream. It was more a warning…or even some sort of twisted and confused glimpse of something that…something that Flemeth wished me to see.”

  “Flemeth!” Anders swore under his breath as his grip tightened around her hands. “What the bloody hell does that Witch of the Wilds have to do with your dream?”

  “She was there, with me in the dream-the vision or whatever you call it- she was the one who brought me into the Fade,” she replied softly. “But she wasn’t the only one there in the Fade with me. You were there, Anders…you and my son.”

  The shock on his face stood out plainly, and he swore again before he turned and walked a few steps away from Hawke in his distress. Stopping suddenly, his back stiffly turned to her, his head lowered before him, he spoke to her in a grim voice,

  “Tell me everything Flemeth said, Hawke. Tell me everything that happened, everything you saw and heard while in the Fade. And for Maker’s sake, don’t you leave out a single bloody detail.”

  Confused and troubled by his tone and his refusal to look at her, she hesitated a moment before she began to relate her dream to him, stumbling slightly over her words in the beginning. Soon her voice strengthened and she told him everything that had happened, from the moment she had fallen asleep in her bath, to the moment she had awoken from the terrible dream. She left out not one detail of what she had experienced while in the Fade, she held nothing back from him, her voice betraying the pain and horror of what she had seen and heard.

  When she finally finished her tale, she wiped away the wetness from her cheeks from the tears she had not realized she had been shedding. Sniffling, she gazed at the back of Anders’ form as he stood in heavy silence, his arms crossed in front of him and his head bowed in thought. Minutes passed in slow succession yet he remained unmoving and mute, his back still towards Hawke.

  “Now do you understand why you have to stay away from Fenris? He doesn’t understand Flemeth’s enigmatic words anymore than I do, or her reason for entering my dream, but he _has_ decided that _you_ are the real danger…the real reason for the dream.” Sliding off the edge of the examination table, she landed heavily on her feet and continued to look worriedly at Anders. “That’s why you must give me your promise, Anders. Please…”

  She watched as Anders lifted his head and ran a hand through his hair in agitation. When he turned around to face her, she met his eyes and what she saw reflected within their deepest depths, before they changed to the clear light brown she was familiar with, left her shaken and doubtful of the truthfulness of his next words.

  “I have no idea why that old dragon felt the need to drag you into the Fade…or what she was trying to warn you about. Playing her usual witch’s tricks, and messing with your mind, if you ask me. But I give you my promise.” He moved to stand in front of her, and searched her face for a moment before placing a hand on each of her shoulders. “You are the most important person in Kirkwall to me…you must know that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. Do you trust me when I say that?”

  Nodding her head, she answered him with a yes-but at that moment she realized with a sinking feeling that he was not the only one of them that had not been completely honest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N 1/12/13: I know it took SO long for me to update this story, but I have a new job so I am finding I have less time to do all the things I want and that I like to do. Life tends to get like that at times!
> 
> Well, anyway, here it is and I hope you enjoy it. Thanks to my 3 wonderful Beta's for all their help!

 

The dark clouds let loose a torrent of cold rain just as Hawke reached the wide flight of steps that led to the upper part of Hightown. Drawing her nearly soaked cloak tighter about her, she hurried up the steps as fast as her seven-month pregnant body would allow, taking care to watch her footing on the spots that had become slick with water. Taking a left when she reached the top, she quickened her pace, sloshing through swiftly forming rain puddles until she reached the abandoned mansion where Fenris made his home. Testing the door’s handle, she found it unlocked; opening the door just wide enough to enter, she slid her body through the gap and then hastily shut the door against the intrusion of the heavy rain.

  Removing her soaked outer-garment, she gave it a few vigorous shakes to loosen the worst of the raindrops that clung to the heavy cloak. She was grateful that her lined outerwear had absorbed the worst of the wetness, otherwise the clothes underneath would have been just as soaked. Draping the cloak over one arm, she stood in the middle of the dimly lit vestibule and listened for any sounds of movement. She heard nothing but her own uneven breaths as her breathing began to settle slowly back to its normal rhythm.

  Looking down at the growing puddle of water beneath her, she hoped no one came in and slipped on the wet tile floor before it had a chance to dry. Feeling a draft, she looked up at the high ceiling above her head and then decided that the rain, which was steadily leaking onto the floor through the gaping hole in the roof, was much more detrimental to a person’s safety than any puddle that _she_ might leave behind. For the life of her, she could not fathom why Fenris still insisted on living in such an empty and lonely place when she had a perfectly good estate- free from gaping holes in the roof- where he could reside on a full-time basis. Moving further away from the front entrance, her inner voice reminded her that she knew full well why Fenris would never consent to make her home his permanent residence- and that reason went by the name of _Anders_.

  Anders. As she thought about their last conversation, a feeling of unease stole over Hawke. She was happy that she had finally convinced Anders to avoid Fenris for the time being, but his words and demeanor had left her with the distinct impression that her friend was not being completely honest with her about… Well, she was not sure _what_ it was, exactly. She just knew that yesterday she had seen something in his eyes that worried her…made her think that maybe Justice had much more control and influence over Anders than she first believed. She was starting to wonder what lengths Anders would go to in order to help reshape Thedas into a place where all mages lived could live free and enjoy the same rights and protections that society- and the Chantry- had given to the rest of the civilized world. With a sigh, she gave herself a mental shake and put any further thoughts about Anders-and Justice-from her mind, for she had a more important matter to deal with this night.

  She pushed back the wet hair that the wind had plastered to her forehead and wiped a few drops of water from her face. Her robes were damp and they clung to her skin in a manner she found very uncomfortable and more than a little binding. Moving farther into the mansion’s drafty interior she shivered as the cool air touched her exposed skin. The sooner she could get out of her wet clothing and into something dry, the better.

  The cracked and loose tiles shifted under her feet as she walked across the large expanse of the Main Hall, her footsteps echoing loudly in the nearly empty space. Despite the disrepair and neglected condition of the huge deserted mansion, it still had character, a regal strength and beauty that shone through. Despite the large chunks missing from the high ceilings and roof, despite the thin cracks running through the walls and the floors that had entire sections of octagon tiles missing from its surface, she still found glimpses of its proud, former self. It must have been a sight to see, before it became empty and fell into such a rundown state. She reached the foot of one of the twin staircases and paused at the bottom, reflecting for a moment. Yes, the mansion did have character but it would never be cozy or feel as lived in as her much smaller estate did- it did not feel like _home_. Putting her left hand on the bannister, she climbed the wide staircase to the second level and turned her mind towards more pressing matters.

  Entering the center room that Fenris designated as his bedchamber, she tossed her cloak onto the long wooden table that sat to the left of the doorway. Noticing the two squat candles sitting on the tabletop, she murmured an incantation and within seconds, their wicks flamed with a soft glow of light. She felt a momentary twinge of guilt for using her magic in such a casual way. Out of respect for Fenris’ feelings, she had always refrained from using magic in his chamber but, under the circumstances, the avoidance of giving a little magical help seemed unreasonable. Surveying the large stack of dry wood and tinder within the cold hearth, she pushed aside further feelings of guilt and calling on her elemental powers, she aimed her staff; suddenly with a loud _whoosh_ , a fiery ball engulfed the pile of logs in a flaming heat that soon settled down into a more manageable roaring fire. Besides, she thought, it would have taken her _forever_ to start a fire if she had to do it the non-magical way, and her patience was already in low reserves as it was.

  Hawke stood for a few moments longer in front of the wide hearth, enjoying the warmth of the fire before turning away to search for dryer clothes. She hoped she had one of her unused robes stashed somewhere in the room, and if there was one, she hoped that it would still fit! Rummaging through both wardrobes, her search for one of her robes proved fruitless in the end. She stood still, hands at her hips and frowned at the unhelpful wardrobe. Now what was she supposed to do? Unfortunately, Fenris’ penchant for ripping her garments during the more intimate times they shared meant that she would have to clothe herself in something else. Turning away, her gaze landed on the large bed set against the wall and her frown melted away as a mental picture formed in her mind. The memory of the last time they had shared such a moment in his bedchamber- in that very bed- quickly chased away the minor annoyance she felt at not finding a robe, even as it brought a lingering smile and a heated flush to her cheeks.

  It was then she noticed the shirt draped across the bed’s footboard, one that she had oft seen Fenris wearing when he was relaxing in this room. Eyeing the length of the garment, she supposed it would have to do, at least until her own clothes were dry enough to wear again. Crossing to the bed, she picked up the discarded shirt and held it up against her front, making sure that it would cover all the parts that needed covering for modesty’s sake.

  Walking back to the fireplace, she then undressed. She removed the small apothecary pouch and the sheathed dagger she wore on her metal girdle, and placed them to one side on the bench. After several minutes of fighting with the damp clothing, she finally managed to rid herself of her robe and smallclothes and with a small sigh of relief, she donned Fenris’ garment. The sleeves hung down well below her fingertips, so she rolled them past her wrist so she could have use of her hands in order to button up the front of the shirt over the swell of her belly. Wrapped in the comfortable softness of his shirt, a sudden longing for his presence overwhelmed her. His scent still clung to the soft, worn material of the shirt and she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as his heady fragrance filled her senses, coaxing a wistful smile to her lips.

  With a long drawn out sigh, she opened her eyes and then went about the task of spreading out her damp clothes onto one of the long wooden benches, so that the heat radiating from the fireplace could dry them. Once finished, she found that there was nothing further for her to do, other than to wait for Fenris’ impending return. She moved about the room, straightening things and tidying-up as she went along, trying to keep busy and her mind occupied with things other than her thoughts of displeasure over Fenris’ disappearance.

  Varric had been the one to find out what Fenris had been doing for the past four days, and had come to her estate earlier that day to give her the news. The resourceful dwarf had also informed her that the elf was due to return to Kirkwall sometime this night- a piece of information that Hawke had been unable to obtain on her own. It still irked Hawke when _she_ had asked, Athenril had refused to confirm or deny that she had employed Fenris to help with one of her smuggling jobs. Even when Hawke had angrily pressed her, the female elf had remained frustratingly tight-lipped, saying only that she would have to ask _Fenris_ for the answers she sought.

  Hawke just hoped that Fenris was still speaking to her and that his anger with her had cooled to a low simmer. Otherwise, her decision to wait for him at his home- where he would have no choice but to face her- might turn out to be a very bad one after all. She frowned at that possibility, suddenly less sure of her decision to force the issue with Fenris, instead of letting him come to her when he was ready. She sighed and gave herself a mental shake. Whatever happens, will happen… and worrying about all the ‘what ifs’ of the situation would serve no use other than to give her a headache.

  Wrapped in a coarse woolen blanket that she had removed from a chest, she seated herself at the head of the long table in the chair that Fenris generally used. There was a stack of books within reaching distance, as well as a half-filled bottle of red wine. Picking up one of the books, she glanced at the title and her brows lifted in surprise. Funny, she had never pictured Fenris as being the type to read a book of poetry.

  As she thumbed through the well-worn pages of the volume, she wondered what other things she did not know about her lover. With some disconcertion, she realized that there was quite a lot about the elf that remained a mystery to her. He very rarely talked about his past, and he was definitely not one to talk about his feelings, be they good or bad. But then again, he was more prone to letting his actions speak for him, rather than mere words, a trait that she found admirable, yet frustrating at times.

  Closing the book, she set it to one side and then picked up another. She smiled when she recognized the tome as being the one that she had gifted to Fenris a few years back. She remembered that he had not been too pleased with the book at first, and confused by his hostile reaction to the well-intentioned gift, she had felt hurt and had wanted to lash out at him for his ungratefulness. Then he had revealed a painful truth that had wrenched her heart; he did not know how to read. That very night she gave him his first reading lesson and by the end of the month, he had read the gifted leather-bound book from beginning to end. She could still picture the look of pride and delight on his face when he had finished reading the last chapter to her, and the smile he had given her… That glorious, heartfelt smile had been the perfect gift of thanks.

  Pushing the book and the memory aside, she leaned back further into the chair with a yawn. She had not slept well last night, and her lack of sleep was starting to wear on her. Between fretting about Anders and whatever it was he was keeping from her, and worrying about where Fenris was and how their relationship stood, she had spent the better part of the night pacing the floor of her bedroom. Stifling another yawn, she pulled the ends of the blanket tighter around her and leaned her head against the high back of the chair. Staring into the flickering flame of one of the candles atop the table, she began to relax, her mind drifting off to a place that held her most precious memories…

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 

  Hawke burrowed down deeper into the blankets that covered her, and hugged the pillow she held closer to her body, as her conscious mind slowly drew her way from the Fade and her dreams. She opened one eye, and then the other, and tried to focus her not-quite-awake brain on the fact that she was hugging a pillow and no longer sitting in a chair. Pushing off the mountain of blankets that were covering her, she struggled to sit upright in the bed. _Bed!?_ How in the Maker’s Name did she get here?She ran a hand through her tousled locks and frowned in bemusement. For the life of her, she could not remember falling asleep, never mind getting out of the chair and walking to Fenris’ bed!

Drawing the rest of the coverlets away from her body, she slid out of the bed and stood up. The dim grey light, finding its way into the room through the large holes in the ceiling above her head, told her that the early morning hours had arrived. Rubbing her eyes, she yawned and tried to ignore her body’s grumblings that it required more than the few meager hours of sleep.

  The stone tiles were cold beneath her bare feet and she felt the touch of cool air on her legs, reminding her that she was standing there dressed in nothing but Fenris’ borrowed shirt. She hoped her clothing had dried sufficiently enough to put on, for she wanted to look presentable for Fenris, and not like some wench who had just had a tumble in bed.

  The child she carried moved restlessly in her womb as she made her way to the bench that held her drying clothes. She gave her rounded midsection a comforting rub before reaching down to retrieve her robe to test its state of dryness, but a sudden noise stopped her in mid-reach. Straightening, she turned towards the direction of the sound, almost losing her balance in her haste.

  Her eyes widened as she clutched a hand to her chest. “Fenris!”

  He stood in the doorway, dressed in a white linen long-sleeved shirt, left unbuttoned and hanging loose, its ends reaching the mid-thigh point of the closefitting black leather leggings that he wore.  Crossing the threshold, he gave her a brief smile as he walked towards the hearth, his arms filled with logs of wood. “I did not mean to wake you.”

  “You didn’t,” she replied, watching him as he added the wood to the dwindling stack of burning logs. When he turned his head to look over his shoulder at her, she asked, “When did you get back?”

  Picking up the iron poker, Fenris stoked the fire until it was burning to his satisfaction. Replacing the poker to its stand, he turned around to face Hawke. “It was well past midnight when I arrived in Kirkwall, even later when I returned here to the mansion.”  His green eyes studied her for a moment. “Imagine my surprise at finding you here, asleep in my chair…wearing nothing but my shirt.”

  She pushed back her unruly hair from her eyes and then looked down the front of her wrinkled makeshift outfit. Suddenly feeling insecure about her disheveled appearance, she tried to smooth down the creases with her hand, but succeeded only in loosening a top button from its hole, baring the top swell of her breasts to his view. “I got caught in the rain storm and was drenched while walking here, so it was either, wear your shirt, or go about naked wrapped in nothing but a blanket.”

  Hawke suddenly noticed the direction of Fenris’ gaze and she looked down. Frowning at the way he had cocked his eyebrow at her- as if she had undone that particular button on _purpose_ -, she re-buttoned it, although it took two tries before she managed to insert the button into its hole correctly. “If you don’t want me here, then just say so and I’ll leave.” She knew she was being petulant, but she had expected a warmer greeting from him, something that showed that he had at least missed her…even a little.

  Fenris sighed in exasperation at her defensiveness. “Did you hear me say that I did not want you here? I only said that I was surprised- not displeased- to find you waiting for me.”

  Somewhat mollified by his response, she crossed her arms, cocking her head to one side as stared thoughtfully at Fenris. “Why were you so surprised?”

  “After the way we parted I was not sure where things stood between us.”

  “You thought I might not want to see you…?” Her expression and tone revealed her surprise.

  “You _did_ tell me to leave, Hawke. It is only natural that I would think such a thing.”

  “But I never meant…”  She shook her head, her voice pleading with him to understand. “You were just so _angry_ , Fenris… I just…I needed time on my own to figure things out.”

  “And I intended to give you all the time you needed,” he stated quietly.

  Hawke opened her mouth to give him a retort, but immediately closed it again when a sneaking suspicion entered her mind. Her eyes narrowed at him. “This job you took from Athenril... So it was nothing more than an excuse for you to stay away from me. Were you trying to _punish_ me?”

  “What!?”  The word burst from his lips in angry shout. His incredulous expression showed that his ears could not have possibly heard right.

  “You heard me!” yelled Hawke. “Why else would you disappear for more than four days? Without one word to me or to your friends, where you were going or even when you would return! Especially since you would have known _exactly_ how your sudden disappearance would make me feel!”

  Fenris took a step closer to her and then stopped, simply glaring at her. “ _Why_ , you ask?” he said between gritted teeth, his calm exterior gone. “Did it ever occur to you that I was only doing what I thought best for you… _for us_? Did you ever stop to think that _I_ might need some time to process things… to get over the worst of my anger and hurt before seeing you again?”  His green eyes bored into hers as he stepped forward again, closing the distance between them. “This is not easy for me either, Hawke. None of it is. You are not the only one to be affected by what is happening in our lives.”

  The truth of his words hit her full-force. Her shoulders slumped and she bowed her head as the anger and fight left her, leaving her body feeling like a marionette puppet that suddenly had its strings cut. Fenris was right. She had been so concerned about how _she_ felt, how things would affect her, how she was so concerned about making amends with Fenris so that _she_ could assuage her own feelings of guilt that she had never stopped to consider any of the things he had just said.

  “You’re absolutely right. I was wrong to- I shouldn’t have come here.” Tears gathered in her downcast eyes as she stared over her protruding belly at her bare feet, and her voice softened further as she continued speaking. “I know this can’t be easy on you…this baby…my insecurities and fears…everything. I know that I shouldn’t have tried to force things, but I just… I…” Her voice trembled and she shook her head. What more could she say? Any reasons, any excuse for her actions surely meant nothing in the face of what he had revealed. Her head lowered further even as she shook her head once again, unwilling to finish her thoughts. She felt his strong fingers grip her chin and he gently forced her head upwards until she met his steady gaze, quietly urging her to continue. “I missed you Fenris… I missed you more than I ever thought possible,” she whispered as the tears finally began to flow in earnest, the drops slowly rolling down her cheeks. “I can’t bear the thought of losing you.”

  “You will never lose me, Hawke.” He brushed away a few of her tears with his free hand and tightening his hold upon her chin, he drew her face nearer. He spoke each simple word with quiet emphasis, his intense and sincere gaze never wavering from her eyes. “ _I. Am. Yours._ ” 

  How could he still utter those words? Still make that promise to her and mean it, despite all the pain and turmoil she had caused him? Yet it was there in the way his features had soften as he had listened to her words, in the way his voice had gentled as they held her- his love for her remained, as strong and true as before.

  Hawke took in a deep, shaky breath and then expelled the air slowly in great relief. The corners of her mouth drew upwards in a smile that rivaled the light shed by the sun. She felt freer, lighter somehow, as if a great weight, which had been crushing, her was now gone. She was still smiling when Fenris bent his head and kissed her lips with a poignant tenderness that touched the deepest place of her heart.

  When they finally drew apart, her expression grew serious as she searched his face. “Does this mean that you are no longer mad at me?”

  “It means…” Fenris paused for a moment as if carefully considering his next words. “It means that I am considerably _less_ angry with you.”

  She was silent for a few moments as she weighed his answer, trying to decide if his lingering anger was something she would be able to deal with and accept. Since she really did not have a choice in the matter, and knowing that he could not possibly stay mad at her forever, she decided that the only course of action that she could take was to live with the ramifications of the anger she had caused.  “I suppose that is understandable, considering everything that has happened…” her forehead creased slightly as she thought about her next question to him. “But I guess the more important question is… Have you forgiven me?”

  “Have I not always forgiven you in the past?”

  She nodded her head, but that did not really answer her question. She wanted, no, _needed_ to hear the words from him. She waited for Fenris to give her a definitive ‘yes _’_ , and when he said nothing further, she drew her brows together into a frown.

  A fleeting scowl crossed Fenris’ forehead and he sighed once more. “Yes, Hawke… I have forgiven you.”  He abruptly stepped back several paces when Hawke suddenly threw herself against him and wrapped her arms tightly about his neck. Surprised and caught off-balance, he quickly wrapped his arms around her, struggling to keep them both from toppling over. “What has gotten into you Hawke?” he growled.

  She laughed, not in the least disturbed by his tone. “I am just so _happy_!”

  “Any happier and we both would have ended up on the floor in a tangled heap,” he said gruffly, but soon he gave in to the humor of the situation and his deep, amused chuckles filled the room, mixing in with Hawke’s infectious peels of laughter.

  Hawke tightened her arms around his neck and snuggled closer to Fenris, nestling her face into the side of his neck. His scent filled her nostrils and she breathed him in, a small contented smile upon her face. Maker, she had missed him! Missed moments like this, and countless other such wonderful moments lost to them these past four days.

   Her smile slipped away as thoughts of an unknown future and the whispered warnings of Flemeth cast an unwelcomed shadow across her mind, and she clung to him a little tighter. As if sensing her sudden unease, Hawke felt his arms draw tighter around her, drawing her closer to his body, as he softly murmured an endearment, his warm breath soft against her hair.

  After a few moments, Fenris reached up and gently removed her arms from about his neck and stepped back from her. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

  Hawke mentally ticked off all the possible ‘somethings’ he might be referring to, as she regarded his enigmatic expression. “I’m not sure…,”she said cautiously, searching his face for further clues and founding none other than the slight tensing of his jawline. “But it might be easier if you just tell me what it is you want to know.”

  “You visited the mage.”

  She had the sudden urge to track down a certain Chantry brother and throttle the life out of him. “So not only am I to be chaperoned whenever I leave my home, but now my every movement is to be reported to you?” Despite the even tone she used when she spoke, her eyes flashed with angry indignation as she returned Fenris’ gaze. “It’s bad enough I have Aveline putting her nose in where it’s not wanted, I don’t need Sebastian spying on me as well.”

  “I doubt Aveline would regard doing her job as spying,” he replied calmly. “She’d be a poor Guard-Captain if she failed to keep track of what certain notable” -he raised one dark brow- “people did within Kirkwall.”

  “I should have known you’d agree with her methods. You’re always taking her side,” she muttered.

  “Only when it comes to your safety, Hawke, and keeping you out of trouble.” His half-smile lingered for a moment before it disappeared. “Now stop trying to change the subject and answer my question. We can discuss your displeasure of the methods I employ another time, when you are more apt to listen with an open mind.”

  Although she did not see how her mind could be more receptive than it already was, Hawke nodded her head, not wishing any more than Fenris to get into an argument. She could see the tired lines that etched his face and she wanted to end this conversation as quickly as possible so that he could get some rest, although, she did vaguely wonder why it was that he had not chosen to seek the comfort of his bed when she had been asleep within it. She tucked that question away for another time.

  “Well, if I am to be interrogated about my visit with Anders, I’d prefer to be comfortably seated,” she said with a small sigh. Moving away from Fenris, she walked over to the table and sat down in the side chair facing the head of the table. She waited until Fenris had seated himself in his usual spot at the end, before she spoke again. “I’m not sure what more I can add to whatever your spy- forgive me, _Sebastian_ , has already reported to you.” She smiled at him sweetly, ignoring the look of warning he shot her way.

  “Hawke, I am tired and I am trying my best not to lose my patience. I would appreciate it if you would keep that in mind before choosing your next words.” Placing an arm upright upon the chair’s armrest, he leaned his chin wearily on his fist. “Perhaps you can start by telling me why you went to see the mage in the first place.” His piercing green eyes bored into Hawke.

  Fenris’ words had the intended effect on Hawke and she gave him an apologetic smile, hoping that it would help coax him out of his present mood. It did not. The only thing she received for her effort was a raised brow and another long-suffering sigh from Fenris. Even her mumbled “Sorry…,” elicited no more than the barest grunt of acknowledgement from him.

  Hawke leaned further back into her chair and resting her clasped hands on the shelf her rounded belly made, she turned her head to one side and gazed into the flame of the nearest candle sitting atop the table. Her admission would serve nothing but to further Fenris’ animosity against Anders, yet she saw no choice other than to speak the truth. “You know why I went to see Anders,” she said softly. She would not look at him, did not want to see the hurt and anger that she knew would be shadowed in his eyes. Heaviness settled in her chest and she suddenly realized that she did not want to talk about Anders, or anything that had to do with her and Anders’ relationship. “Please, Fenris…just let it go- for both our sakes.”

  The silence between them grew as she waited for him to respond to her plea. The candle’s flame flickered, wavering back and forth, as a current of air from her exhaled breath touched it. She continued to stare into the candlelight unwilling- and perhaps a little afraid- to meet the steady gaze of those evergreen eyes that had an uncanny way of uncovering things inside her that she felt should remain buried or forgotten.

  Hawke heard the creak of wood and the whispered rustle of fabric; in her peripheral vision, she saw Fenris shift his body towards her as he leaned forward in his chair. She could feel his eyes on her, skimming the features of her face as if he was searching for something. Squaring her shoulders, she finally turned her head to face him.

  “Why do you have this need to protect him, Hawke? I do not understand why it is you are so drawn to him…why your trust in him is so implicit? Whatever it is that you think you see in him has blinded you to his true nature. Anders is dangerous.”

  “And you aren’t? Varric? Aveline? Me? We are _all_ dangerous, Fenris. Each of us has maimed or killed in order to protect the people and things we care about- not one of us is innocent in that regard. Not even Sebastian. We all have blood on our hands.”

  “And what am I to do if one day the blood on Anders’ hands turns out to be yours, Hawke? How am I to survive the loss of you? Heed my words well: A day shall come when his need for vengeance will overshadow whatever love he thinks he feels for you, and he _will_ hurt you.”

  Sadness crept over Hawke at the thought that the two people whom she loved the most would forever be at odds with one another, unwilling to see how alike the two of them were. Fenris’ hatred against slave traders and those who owned slaves was just as intense as Anders’ hate against all those who would imprison and subjugate mages. Both were fierce in their loyalty to those they cared about and they used whatever abilities and measures at their disposal to defend and protect the things and people that were most important to them. The similarities were endless if one looked deep enough or knew them well enough, yet each was unwilling-or unable- to see that they had more in common than they realized.

  Hawke’s lips twisted into a sad smile at the irony of Fenris’ last words, for they echoed the very warning that Anders himself had given her, not too long after the two of them had become friends. “Do you realize that Anders said almost those same very words to me after I-,” she stopped, blushing, as she realized what she was about to tell Fenris. Somehow, she did not think Fenris would care to know that she had been flirting with Anders, although by the way she was fidgeting in her seat, he was bound to have drawn the correct conclusion.  Pulling her hand away from the shirt buttons she had been plucking at with her fingers, she settled it on her stomach and gave him a weak smile. “Well, what I’m trying to say is that Anders is not as unaware of his…shortcomings as you believe.”

  His snort and dubious expression showed his exact feelings on that particular subject. It was obvious that he did not share her sentiments, and when he turned his face to look at the half-empty wine bottle on the table, the tic in his jaw muscle became apparent. Well, _that_ was never a good sign. Hawke sighed quietly in resignation and braced herself.

  Fenris picked up the bottle and tilted it back and forth, studying the dark contents as it sloshed around inside the glass container. His dark brows slashed downwards  
and the twitch of his cheek muscle became more pronounced. Hawke continued to watch him, dreading what she knew was coming next.

  “Is it true that you and Anders were in a relationship before you met me?” His soft tone and closed expression set off warning bells in her head. He continued to study the wine in the bottle as he waited for her response.

  “Yeesss… Nooo… Sort of.”  Hawke saw his jaw clench and she knew her answer did little to appease him, but she was not sure how she should respond to that question. It was true that feelings other than friendship had developed between her and Anders, and they had been in the early stages of exploring the possibility of having a romantic relationship- thus the rather ambiguous response from her.

  “Either you were in a romantic relationship with the mage, or you were not.” His eyes flickered to her face and then back to the wine bottle he still held before him. “And before you say that you were not, remember that neither Varric nor Anders has been the type to keep quiet about such things.”

  Hawke had known from the beginning that Fenris had either overheard, or had been told, certain information regarding her romantic entanglements- or lack thereof. At least the embellished and exaggerated parts, that is. Varric never told the unvarnished truth when over embellished stories would do so much better. As for Anders…well…he had taken an immediate dislike to Fenris when she started showing more than a passing interest in the elf, so she could only imagine what half-truths he had _inadvertently_ let slip while within earshot of Fenris.

  “I suppose it’s time for me to tell you what happened between Anders and I, and get everything out into the open, once and for all. Just remember that it was before I had even met you-” she paused and her brow lowered a bit, “at least most of what happened between Anders and I happened before I met you.”

  She saw his scowl deepen and she sighed once more. He was _not_ going to like hearing what she had to tell him, and she was afraid he might damage his teeth if he clenched them any tighter together than they already were! She was tempted to remind him that she _did_ love him, that she _was_ carrying his child, but on further thought she decided it would be a bit redundant, and she would only get a frustrated sigh from him for pointing out something that he already knew.

  “Just promise me that after hearing what I have to say, you won’t take it out on Anders.” She knew she had gone too far when he deposited the wine bottle back onto the table’s top with a loud thud, along with a string of Tevinter curses- and from his tone, she assumed it had to be a few of his more colorful ones. “Fine. I’ll say what needs to be said and I’ll just leave it at that.”

  “All I want is the truth,” he said. He studied her face then added, “The complete truth.”

  “ _Fine_ ,” she said once more between clenched teeth. She had never lied to him about what had gone on between her and Anders- not exactly. She had simply chosen to keep certain things unsaid…which, now that she thought about it, was probably why he had felt the need to add that last part. “Fine, the _entire_ truth,” she said with less rancor. “I’ll be completely honest and won’t leave out a bloody detail, although I must go on record as saying that I think sometimes the past should stay _in_ the past.”

  “I would agree with you, Hawke, but in this case your past with Anders is infringing on your future with me,” he said quietly.

  Hawke stared back at him for a moment and then she turned her face away to stare over his shoulder at the far wall as she considered his words. She admitted that there had been times where her friendship with Anders had caused friction between her and Fenris, and often she felt caught in the middle between the two, but she had always assumed that, given enough time, Fenris and Anders would become more amiable with one another. Now she was starting to fear that in reality, the most they could ever do would be to tolerate each other’s existence.

  After another moment had past and she had gathered her thoughts together, she started speaking in a soft voice. “I had never met another mage quite like Anders. I was intrigued by the fact that he was a Grey Warden, and when he revealed to me about his merging with a spirit from the Fade- Justice- it made him that more interesting to me. Add in the fact that he had started a free clinic to help the less fortunate, to help other Ferelden refugees like myself -and that we both had similar views on the subjugation of mages by the Chantry and Templar Order- it was only natural that we became close friends.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then... and then the more time we spent together, the more I found myself becoming attracted to him.” She glanced over at Fenris, who seemed to be taking everything in stride so far, and then her gaze slid back to the far wall. “I guess I was the one who…who flirted first.” She gave him another glance; her expression grew slightly sheepish when he caught her eye, arching a dark brow at her. “It’s not like he didn’t flirt back- or enjoy it,” she mumbled. “I seem to remember a certain elf that enjoyed my flirting, if memory seems to serve me,” she reminded, giving him a pointed look.

  “Yes… it appears you have always been quite the little minx,” he replied dryly.

  She stared at him for a full moment, reading him, trying to decide if he was teasing her or not. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “If I see something I desire- or in this case, some _one_ \- I go after it. I make no apologies for that,” she said, adding with a hint of smugness, “It worked in your case.”

  “Yes, and I have had no peace ever since,” he replied. “If I had known then just how much trouble you would be, I would have run in the opposite direction.”

  Despite herself, Hawke laughed. “You and half the people I have ever met seem to share that same sentiment about me.”

  “ _Only_ half…?” His lips twitched and a half-smile appeared for a heartbeat before fading again from sight. “And what about the remaining half? How do they feel about you?”

  “Oh, they would rather see me locked away in the Circle.” She shrugged her shoulders. “People fear what they don’t understand. Fear or hate.” She gave him a small thin smile, tinged with a touch of sadness. “I’m sure some people wish that I- and all the rest of the mages- simply did not exist at all. Such is the world we live in, or at least the world _I_ live in.” She gave her shoulders another shrug, resigned to the fact that things were as they were, and that people’s views were not about to change in the near future. At least not without some profound occurrence or event to help reshape their views, and Maker only knows what that something could be.

  Leaning forward, Fenris gently traced the curve of her cheek with his strong fingers. “You are not like other mages, and in time most people see that they have nothing to fear from you. You can be trusted to keep your…gift under control.”

  Hawke, leaning slightly into his hand, brushed her cheek against it and gave him another smile tinged with sadness. She had heard the hesitation in his voice when he used the word _gift_ to describe her magical ability, further proving that no matter how well she proved herself, others would always see being a mage as a curse, rather than a blessing the Maker had bestowed upon the world. She loved him for thinking her so above the temptations that any other mage faced, but she knew she was no better, or worse, than any other worker of magic.

  “I’m no different than Anders and-”

  The legs of his chair made a loud scraping sound against the floor when he sat back; Fenris cut her off with a snarl. “ _You_ are _nothing_ like that abomination, Hawke.” His face darkened into a scowl as he glared at her in his outrage. “Do not put that spirit-possessed mage in the same category as you, nor that foolish Dalish blood-mage.” 

  Hawke opened her mouth to defend the two mages, as she had done so many times before in the past, but an angry gesture from Fenris changed her mind and she snapped her mouth shut. Their child moved strongly within her womb, as if in agitation; Hawke counted silently to ten, reminding herself to stay calm for the welfare of the babe.

  “Let us return to our original discussion,” said Fenris, now in full control of his rage again, “before we end up in another useless argument that changes nothing.”

  “Of course, it’s not like _this_ discussion won’t end up in a useless argument,” she muttered under her breath. Ignoring the warning growl that rumbled low in his chest, she reached out an entreating hand to him. “Fenris, can’t you just leave this alone? I just don’t understand why it’s so important to you to hear this.” Her hand fell back to join the other one on her lap and she shook her head. “Fine. Have it your way.” She had not expected an answer from him, but she felt she had to try one last time to sway him from the path he was so determined for the two of them to follow.

  Hawke stiffened her spine and sat further back in her chair. “Tell me what it is that you want to know, Fenris. You already know that I never slept with Anders…” Her voice was soft, questioning. “So what more is there needed to know?”

  “You can tell me what happened between you and Anders after the night you and I… parted ways.”

  _Parted ways_. She gritted her teeth at the way he had described one of the blackest times in her life. She drew in a deep breath and held it for two heartbeats before exhaling. Calmer now, she said, “Anders was there for me in a way that you weren’t, and after time it only seemed natural to…that we…” she hesitated, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Intense emotions, long buried, were slowly coming to the surface as the memory of that day replayed in her mind, and fighting through the myriad of feelings that assaulted her, she told Fenris what he wanted to know.

  She had gone to Anders’ clinic that day, determined to move on with her life, determined after two months of heartache, to once an for all, put what had happened between her and Fenris behind her. After that night with Fenris, after the elf had left her with nothing but a shattered dream and a broken heart, it had been Anders that had been there to help her pick up the pieces of her life, so it seemed natural for Hawke to turn to him when she felt ready to open her heart again to another.

  She told herself that it made more sense to be with another mage, instead of with an elf that feared and mistrusted magic and those that wielded it. It made more sense to be in a relationship with a man with whom she already shared a close friendship with, than with a broody elf that she barely knew, and with whom she shared but the faintest bonds of friendship. The elf had done her a favor by walking out and ending their affair before it had barely begun, she had told herself, and the feelings she had for Anders had only confirmed it. Or so she had thought.

  So she went to the clinic that day, ready to begin anew, and Anders and his words of love and passion had been the balm needed to heal her heart. Burying deep her continued feelings for Fenris, she gave in to Anders’ ardor, promising him that she felt as he did, and telling him she was ready to become his lover, she bade him to come to her chamber that very night.

  Her eyes met Fenris’ and she was unable to hide the guilt and shame she felt at her actions that night, but it was not for the reasons that she knew Fenris was assuming. His next words proved her right.

  “So you lied.” His expression was inscrutable but he had been unable to keep the bitterness he felt from creeping into his voice. “You did give yourself to him.”

  She shook her head. “No, Fenris, I didn’t.” She ignored his sound of disbelief. “He came to me that night, expecting to find me able and willing to commit myself to him…” Her voice trailed off and she closed her eyes for a moment as the guilt washed over her anew. She opened her eyes and a wry smile graced her face. “Before he had even entered my chamber, I knew in my heart that I was using him to forget the one I truly loved…the only person I wanted to give myself to- you, Fenris. Yet even knowing the truth of how I really felt, I was still willing to go through with it, hoping that in time I _would_ forget about you…”

  “Hawke…”

  He said her name softly, but she shook her head, stopping him from saying anything more.

  “But then Anders asked me about you, and in that moment I become completely undone. I don’t even remember everything he said, or what I said, but I do remember his hurt…his anger, and that I told him that I still loved you…that I could never love anyone else in the same way that I loved you…would always love you no matter what.”

  Fenris reached for her, but she shook her head once more, causing him to pull back since she was unwilling to accept his understanding, nor his comfort.

  “I broke his heart, Fenris. I took advantage of his feelings for me, thought only of myself and led him on when I knew deep down that I still loved you. I was cruel and thoughtless and treated him unfairly, though at the time, in my anger, I blamed _him_ that night for my inability to…to go through with everything, because he spoke out against you.”

  It had shocked both her and Anders how fast she had turned on him when he had suggested that it had only been natural for Fenris to sleep with her and then leave her. Her anger against Anders had been vicious and swift, and she had left him no recourse other than to storm angrily from her room- and perhaps maybe- from her life.

  She caught Fenris’ thoughtful appraisal of her. “What?”

  “Is that why the mage disappeared from Kirkwall that time?” asked Fenris. “To hide and lick his wounds?”

  Hawke glared at Fenris for his choice of words. He appeared to be enjoying the thought of Ander’s pain far too much. “Not all of us can be as unfeeling as some and continue on as if nothing had happened,” she said heatedly.

  “Would you have felt better if I had gone off for a few days after that first night we shared?” he growled at her. “My misery was as strong as yours, Hawke.”

  She did not bother with an answer; her barb had hit her intended mark and she had made her point. Fenris stared at her for several minutes more before he finally looked away, fixing his gaze on the celling above him as he expelled his breath noisily in a steady, drawn-out stream of air.

  Hawke lowered her head, eyes on the hands that she had folded over her stomach, but every so often, from beneath her long lashes, she would look over at Fenris. Her only clue to his emotions was the way he was rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, for he had schooled his features into an impassive mask, his expression carefully controlled. She both hated and admired his ability to conceal his true emotions and thoughts from someone when it suited him, but she mostly hated it when _she_ was that someone. It wasn’t fair that he seemed to have no problems reading her expressions, but then again, she had never learned to master her emotions or to hide what she thought about a person or situation.

  Except for that time in the clinic with Anders, that is. Her expression pained, she shut her eyes against the memory of how she had fooled Anders- and perhaps her self- into thinking that she loved him as more than a friend. And then to turn on Anders, with no thought of his feelings… What kind of person would do that to a friend? To someone that had shown her nothing but kindness, respect, and love…to someone who had bared his heart and soul, and who believed her when she told him that she loved him...

  And the worse part of it all, was that she had never told him that she was sorry. She had never asked for his forgiveness. When he had returned to Kirkwall after those three days, they had just continued with their friendship- never speaking about it- going on as if their friendship had not come so close to ending, as if she had never broken his heart.

  _Maker_ , she did not deserve a friend like Anders.

  Opening her eyes once more, Hawke lifted her chin and looked at Fenris. No matter what happened between the elf and her, she had made a decision after that night that she would never again abandon her friendship with Anders. Now that he knew what she had done to him, how could he not understand how much Anders’ friendship meant to her? How could he not see that she could never hurt Anders so terribly again?

  Fenris had to understand… he just had to.


	25. Chapter 25

Hawke drew back the deep hood of her cloak, baring her head to the coolness of the early morning air. She picked her way with care as she moved along the waterfront, making sure not to trip over the coils of braided ropes placed here and there by the dockhands that worked in this bustling area of the city.

  A large vessel with two tall masts sat moored in the harbor, her Captain keeping a watchful eye on the men that were unloading the cargo that had been stored in the ship’s hold. The loud sounds of splintering wood rent the air when a large crate crashed to the ground, spilling its contents of silks and colorful fabrics. Gauging by the loud and angry curses the ship’s captain hurled at the clumsy workers, Hawke had no doubt the fabrics were Orlesian and _very_ expensive.

  Drawing her cloak tighter around her, she gave the scene one last cursory glance and moved past, continuing on to her destination. She wanted to get this meeting over and done with before Fenris woke and realized she had left the estate alone. She still marveled that she had managed to leave her bedroom without waking him; he had not moved a muscle when she had slid away from his side and out of the bed. Hawke suspected that his deep sleep had something to do with all the wine he had consumed before finally retiring for the night. He was generally moderate in his drinking, but last evening he had downed bottle after bottle of the heady liquor until he had sunk into a depth of broodiness that had driven her from his presence to seek the lonely welcome of her bed.

  She wished she knew what was really bothering Fenris. He had been somewhat withdrawn as of late, almost as if he was purposely keeping his distance from her. At first, she had thought it was because of her refusal to abandon her friendship with Anders, despite Fenris’ extreme disapproval of the close relationship she maintained with the troubled mage, but the more she thought about it, the less she was inclined to believe that was the motivating factor for his…well, for his reticent behavior around her.

  _By Andraste’s ashes, why can nothing ever be easy between me and the elf!?_

  One of the city guards called out a greeting to her as he passed by, heading in the opposite direction. Unable to remember the young guardsman’s name- Padrick? Percy? She could never keep their names straight- she simply smiled and inclined her head in return of his greeting and continued on her way. It seemed that Aveline’s recruits were getting younger and younger each year, Hawke thought with another glance back at the guard, who had stopped and was watching her as she walked away. Taking quick note of that fact, she frowned and quickened her stride. She glanced back one more time and was relieved to see that she was no longer under the guard’s scrutiny as he resumed his patrol of the waterfront.

  Skirting around a large puddle left behind from last night’s rains, she wondered what Aveline was up too. Her forehead puckered in thought as it suddenly occurred to her that the city’s guards had been taking a much too keen of interest in her lately. And yesterday, when she had been sitting on a bench in one of the small alcoves that was not too far from the steps leading to Viscount’s Keep, Aveline had suddenly appeared and sat down next to her, telling her that they needed to talk.

  The Guard-Captain showing up unexpectedly was not an unusual occurrence; Aveline did that all the time. What was strange- now looking back at it- was that Aveline seemed to know _exactly_ where to find her, despite the fact that Hawke had purposely picked that particular spot due to the overhanging ivy, which kept the seat in deep shadows, making it difficult for those passing by to see just who sat there. Yet some how Aveline had known she had been seated there.

  The wind rose higher, carrying with it the strong scent of salt and seaweed as it lifted the loose tresses of her hair. Pushing away the tendrils from her face, she drew in a deep breath, calming the irritation that was rising within her. For as long as she could remember, others had closely watched her because of her status as an apostate mage- was she now also supposed to endure her lover and her friends spying on her simply because she was _pregnant_?

  A loud epithet burst from her lips startling one of the dockhands within a group of men that were taking a break near the stack of crates they were moving. Two of the others laughed at her colorful choice of words and the fourth man actually had the nerve to proposition her-rather poorly, she might add.

  “Watch your tongue, you cur! You will address my sister with the respect she deserves as your Champion.” The distinct sound of a steel blade scraping against its holder filled the sudden silence. “I will not ask again. Apologize.”

  Hawke turned to see Carver striding toward them with sword in hand, his heavy Templar armor clanking softly with each step he took. She watched in surprise when he walked past her, placing himself between her and the group of men. Did her brother actually believe she needed his help with this harmless bunch of uncouth males? They probably would have scurried away like rats on a sinking ship if she but conjured a few flames of fire within her hand.

  “Carver- this really isn’t necessary,” she hissed in irritation. Of course, he just ignored her completely, which only served to further annoy her. She quelled the urge to box his ears as she had done on frequent occasions when they had been children.

  Instead, she listened to the profuse and quickly mumbled apologies of the dockhands, watching with amusement when they hurried away- no doubt to spread the exaggerated tale of their encounter with a templar and a woman who had turned out to be the Champion of Kirkwall.

  Carver slid his long sword back into its sheath on his back and turned around to face his sister. “You’re late.”

  “I got here as soon as I could. It’s not easy slipping out of the estate alone, you know.” Frowning, she glanced over to the horizon, noting the sun’s position. “And I’m not that late, brother. Must you _whine_ about everything?”

  Carver scowled. “I was stating a fact, not whining. You’re the one who asked to see me, sister, not the other way around. The least you could do is to be here when you said you would. It wasn’t easy for me to slip away from the Gallows either, but _I_ managed to be here at the right time.”

  Hawke’s lips pressed together in a thin line, her teeth clenched tight against the retort she was trying not to say. She reminded herself why she had asked for this meeting with her brother. She relaxed her jaw and inhaled slowly, then let out her breath with a soft sigh.

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience of having to meet me at the docks, but I’m sure you understand why I could not go to see you at the Gallows.” She crossed her arms across herself, shielding her rounded womb beneath her cloak as her brother’s gaze dropped to her midsection.

  “You are well, sister?” he inquired, his gaze lifting to meet her eyes. At her nod, he asked, “And the babe? It is healthy?”

  “Your soon-to-be nephew is doing fine.” She smiled at his startled expression. “Yes, I know the sex.”

  Carver stared at her perplexed. “But… how is that possible? How can you be so sure it will be a boy?” His brows drew together at the shadow that passed across his sister’s face. “Sister…?”

  “I had a…feeling that it might be a boy,” she replied after a slight pause. She gave him another quick smile. “Then Anders confirmed that it actually was a boy. I’m not sure how he is able to do that- find out the sex of a child-but it seems to have something to do with why he is such a gifted Healer.”

  At the mention of Anders’ name, Carver’s expression hardened and he looked away from his sister’s face. Hawke followed his gaze, out across the water to where the Gallows stood- the symbol of everything that she hated and feared.

  “Carver…” she began slowly, “I need to talk to you about your visit to Aveline’s office. You told her that Anders’ methods have been drawing more attention to himself…that there is growing unease within certain sects of the Templar Order here in Kirkwall. I need to know if Anders is in any immediate danger from the templars.”

  Carver turned from her and walked a few paces until he reached the end of the wooden dock; he stopped and stood with his back towards Hawke. With a loud, exasperated sigh, she followed his lead and joined him at the dock’s edge. When she reached his side, he turned his head to look at her.

  “I wanted to make sure that our conversation was for our ears only,” he explained.

  Hawke glanced back over her shoulder and noticed that there were more than a few people milling around or working close by the area they had been occupying a few moments ago. Meeting her brother’s eyes again, she looked at him with more than a glimmer of respect. It hadn’t even occurred to her that people might have been listening to their conversation.

  Carver gave her a thin smile. “Contrary to what you may think, I am not an idiot. I do happen to know what I’m doing, sister.”

  She cast a lingering gaze to the Flaming Sword insignia emblazoned on his breastplate. The armor he wore told a much different story, to her point of view, but she didn’t think it necessary to revisit that argument again.

  “What exactly has Anders been up to?” she asked, coming to the point of the matter. “As far as I’m aware he’s been doing the same thing that he always has- that he and I have always done- giving mages a chance to find freedom away from the Circle.”

  Carver folded his arms. “Not every mage wants, or even deserves, this so-called freedom. The Circle and the Templar Order were established for a very good reason: To protect both mage and citizen from any harmful effects of magic, and to provide a safe and secure place where mages may learn how to control their craft. If Anders had his way, he would completely do away with it- and the Chantry as well. He tells the mages in the Gallows that they “must fight against the tyranny of all those that have oppressed them”. He spreads nothing but sedition with all his talk that _all_ mages should live free to do as they please- to be accountable to no man or authority.  All you need to do is look at Tevinter to see what a disaster that would be. Even _you_ must agree with that, sister,” he beseeched her. He sighed in irritation when she didn’t automatically agree.

  “Anders is allowed his opinion, Carver. I do believe this is still a freedom that even we mages are afforded,” she said with more than a touch of sarcasm. “His views may be unpopular to some, but that is no reason to brand him as a seditionist. Anders is just willing to fight against what is unjust.”  She stared at her brother, her eyes turning hard and cold. “But look who I am talking to; a templar.” She spat out the word in distaste. “You- and the Order you so staunchly defend and are so _proud_ to be a part of- are the very ones that have committed some of the biggest injustices against mages. You have joined a system that seeks to enslave mages, who treat us no better than second class citizens.”

  Hawke expected to see the anger in her brother’s eyes, but she was unprepared for the hurt that also showed in his expression. The two siblings stared at each other in silence as the seconds turned into minutes. Carver finally broke the silence.

  “You may hate me all you want sister, but I have finally found a purpose in this world, a place where I can make some sort of a difference. You may not believe me, but one of the reasons I joined the Order is to make sure that every citizen in Kirkwall-including mages like yourself- are protected and kept safe.” Carver unfolded his arms and his eyes searched his sister’s face. “Father named me after a templar that he admired and respected…I suppose I am just trying to live up to that name.”

  Hawke did not know what to feel anymore. She had been so angry and hurt for so long over Carver’s decision to become a templar. It had felt as if he was betraying the memory of their father and their sister Bethany, and all that they had been. Carver knew how she felt about templars and about her….fears…yet he still joined them- become one of them. How was she ever supposed to forgive him? How could she make peace with such a decision?

 Carver spoke again, as if he had read his sibling’s mind. “Cat…? Are you ever going to forgive me? Can’t we just move past this?”

  She turned away from her brother and looked out across the sea. She had no answers: Not for Carver, not for herself.

  “I love you, Kitty Cat,” said Carver softly.

  Tears came to her eyes at the familiar childhood nickname, and she blinked them back. “I always hated it when you or anyone else called me that,” she replied. A small, wistful smile crossed her face at the memories the name had evoked.

  “I know. That’s why I kept using it.” Carver gazed at his sister’s profile as she stood looking out over the water. “Be well, sister. And please… don’t let your friendship with Anders continue to blind you to how dangerous his actions have become.”

  Hawke did not reply. She heard him walk away, heading towards the mooring where the small boat was waiting to return him to the Gallows. Breathing in the salty tang of the sea air, she watched the sun as it came up over the horizon through eyes blurred with tears. “I love you too…” she whispered, knowing her brother was too far away to hear her words as they mingled, and then was lost, amidst all the other sounds and voices that filled the air.

***********************

  She started and blinked as she felt her son kick sharply inside her womb. She had no idea how long she had been standing at the edge of the docks, lost in her memories and thoughts. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced up at the sun, noting that it sat higher in the pale blue sky.

  _Blood and Damnation_! Fenris was bound to be out of bed now, and she could picture the irritated expression he would be wearing once he realized that she had left the estate without telling anyone where she had gone. She quickly put the image of his scowling face out of her mind, deciding that she would just deal with the repercussions- for there were _always_ repercussions when it came to Fenris- after she had completed the rest of her morning’s agenda.

  Squaring her shoulders, she turned her back on the view of the Gallows and left the docks, heading in the direction of Darktown. It was time to find out for herself, whether Carver’s concerns were real or imagined. Yet knowing Anders as well as she did, she was afraid that his desire to help other mages might be turning into an obsession: One that was slowly consuming him and pushing him to take extreme and dangerous risks.

  Anders had changed over the years; she was not as blind to the transformations as Fenris often accused her to be. She could see that Anders was slowly losing himself to Justice’s control and to his own need for vengeance…succumbing to the hatred that was born so early in his youth when the Templars had come for him. That day they had taken him against his will and sent him to live in the Fereldan Circle at Lake Calenhad, something that marred and forever changed Anders.

  Hawke had never experienced the loss of her freedom, had never had to endure the helplessness of being locked away from family and friends…from the life that you had once lived. To be told what to do…where to go…even how to act. To have the free will that the Maker endowed to _all_ men and women slowly stripped away from you and reduced to nothing by the templars and Circle life.

  A cloud passed by the face of the sun, blocking out its warming rays for a moment; she shuddered as a sudden chill took hold. Even when the sun’s light appeared once more, Hawke still felt a lingering coldness in her soul as she reflected on all that she knew about Anders’ life while locked away in that Circle Tower… at the scars that had been left behind not only upon his body, but on his mind and spirit. She doubted that those types of scars would ever truly fade away, that time could ever heal such invisible wounds.

  When Hawke arrived in Darktown, she headed straight to the clinic that Anders ran. She felt guilty for not stopping to talk to the various inhabitants of Darktown that called out to her as she passed, but a quick smile and nod would just have to suffice; she was determined to avoid anything that might distract her from her task. She had not seen Anders for weeks, and she needed to make sure that all was well where he was concerned.

  She stopped at the foot of the steps that led to the upper level where the free clinic was located, taking a moment to catch her breath. She had seen the lit lanterns above the double doors, so she knew that Anders was inside. She hoped that he would be available to talk, but she was prepared to wait for however long it would take until she could speak to him in private.

  Lifting the hem of her garments, she climbed the stairway and made her way to the entrance of the clinic. She paused, her hand at the door, when she heard the sound of voices raised in anger. All of them were male, and one of them was definitely Ander’s irate voice.

  She opened the door just enough to see into the clinic. Her heart dropped in her chest when she saw two templars standing before Anders, their backs to the entrance. _Sweet Andraste!_ Were they here to arrest him? She hesitated, not sure what to do. Her eyes narrowed when one of the templars took a purposeful step towards Anders.  Moving into the clinic, her hand outstretched, she just reacted without thought and on instinct.

  The templar abruptly stopped in mid-stride when he hit the invisible barrier. He stumbled back and managed to catch himself from falling just in time. His companion looked at him in surprise but quickly recovered from his shock; he held up hand and placed it flat against the barrier, unleashing a counter spell- it dissolved in an instance.

  “No more tricks, mage. You’ll come with us now- or else,” commanded the templar that had been thwarted by the invisible shield. He drew his sword, pointing it at Anders chest. “You won’t get away with what you did last night! You’ll answer to the Knight-Commander for your crimes.”

  “Whatever happened last night was not done by Anders, templar. Of that I can assure you,” stated Hawke calmly despite the way her heart pounded within her chest.

  She moved between Anders and the templar holding the blade. She heard Anders hiss of anger and felt his hand pull the back of her cloak as he tried to move her aside. She moved back a step and ground the heel of her boot on his toes. He let out another hiss- this one of pain- and promptly let go of the material.

  “Champion,” said the other, older templar. “My name is Ser Kendrick. We have never met, but Knight-Captain Cullen has spoken of you with great respect and admiration. Ser Reginald and I have orders to bring this mage – to bring Anders in to the Gallows for questioning.” He shot a sideways disapproving glare at his fellow templar. “Ser Reginald, lower your sword at once.”

  Hawke relaxed slightly when the templar reluctantly lowered his blade, though the look he gave her put her on guard. She could feel the animosity radiating from this templar, and she imagined he would be more than happy to run his blade through both her and Anders. She gave Ser Kendrick what she hoped was a cordial smile for his intervention.

  “What crime, exactly, is Anders being accused of?” she asked, ignoring the younger templar and directing her question to Ser Kendrick. He seemed more even-tempered than Reginald.

  “He set fire to one of the storage rooms in the underground caverns beneath the Gallows,” snarled Reginald. “Then while everyone was distracted, he kidnapped two of our Circle mages!” His dark, hard eyes flashed with unconcealed condemnation.

  “Kidnapped is a strong word,” replied Kendrick, giving his fellow templar a warning look. “Perhaps it would better to say that he helped two of our mages leave the confines of the Circle. In either case, Champion, we are required by Chantry law, and by the laws of Kirkwall, to follow all leads and bring any suspects to the Knight-Commander for questioning.”

  Hawke felt Anders’ warm breath at her ear, whispering for her to stay out of it. She ignored him. “Well, if that’s the case, then perhaps you should go find a valid suspect. Anders could not have done any of those things.” She felt Anders’ breath on her neck, but stamped her heel on his foot again before he could whisper anything else.

  Ser Kendrick studied Hawke’s calm face for a moment. “And pray tell, how do you know that it couldn’t possibly be him?”

  Hawke had been desperately trying to come up with a convincing reason why it could not have been Anders. She knew she would have to lie, and it would have to be a good lie, but the problem was that she never had been a good liar. She wiped her damp palms against the sides of her cloak, hoping that the templars would not notice her nervous fear.

  “I know because Anders was with me all night.”

  “Dragonshit, Kendrick!” exclaimed Ser Reginald. He turned his head to look at the other templar. “You can’t seriously believe her?” He snorted in derision and eyed Hawke, a sneer on his face. “So tell me- what exactly were the two of you doing all night?” His gaze slid insultingly over her body.”

  “None of your bloody business, templar!” yelled Anders. He put his arms around Hawke, pulling her back against him in an attempt to shield her from the templar’s gaze.

  Hawke was startled at Anders’ actions for a moment, but she realized that it may actually make the rest of her lie more believable. She just prayed that Anders was in control long enough to play along with what she was doing. She felt his anger and hatred of the templars simmering just below the surface, and she feared that Justice was lurking within, just waiting to be let loosed.

  “Shall I spell it out for you, Ser? Or, is it that you can’t believe that a man would still find pleasure with a woman that is with child? There are many positions that work quite well… aren’t they my love?” Hawke slid an arm around backwards, pulling Anders closer.

 Ser Kendrick’s eyes widened and he stammered, his face turning red. Reginald’s face fell, and he looked incensed when Anders began to nuzzle the side of Hawke’s neck.

  “Yes, there are… and we only explored but a few last night.”  Anders said huskily against her neck. He gave her one last nuzzle and raised his head, giving the templars a small, tight smile.

  Ser Kendrick cleared his throat a few times and then swallowed. He was having a hard time meeting Hawke’s eyes. “Champion… if you swear that… that you were with this mage all night…and…” He gave a nervous cough. “…and that he was otherwise occupied… I will let the matter drop.”

  “Wait a minute- what about the elf? The one covered in all those strange markings! It’s common knowledge that you and that elf have been carrying on!” Ser Reginald’s look dared her to deny that fact. His smile grew when Hawke did not immediately answer.

  “Who said he wasn’t with us?” replied Anders smoothly. He grinned at the templars.

  Hawke felt the heat stealing across her face at Ander’s answer. This lie just kept getting worse! How in the Void was she ever going to be able to live this one down? Maker, she groaned inwardly, the rumors would just grow and grow once this conversation got out.

  She had never been as embarrassed in all her life! She could hardly meet Ser Kendrick’s gaze, anymore then he could meet hers. She could kick herself for not coming up with a less sordid lie… what had she been thinking?!

  It was all _his_ fault- Anders. If he had only told her what he had planned to do… she might have been able to find a better way to free those two mages. She definitely would have been able to come up with a more acceptable alibi for him.

  And now the stupid _ass_ of a mage had dragged Fenris’ name into this lie!

  Dwelling on her anger lessoned her embarrassment to some extent and she was able to show a calm exterior to the templars. It appeared that they had fallen for her ruse and after a few uncomfortable moments, they left the clinic to report to the Knight-Commander of their findings.

  “Well, this is certainly a strange turn of events,” remarked Anders. “I never dreamed when I woke up earlier this morning that I would acquire an entire lover before mid-day.” Chuckling, he rubbed her stomach before withdrawing his embrace. “And a pregnant lover at that.”

  Hawke said not a word in response. She simple turned to face him, drew back her arm with a single fluid movement, and proceeded to smash her fist into his smugly grinning face.

  “Son of a whore!” Anders took a step back in surprise. Glaring at her, he wiped away the trickle of blood that was running down the corner of his rapidly swelling lip. “What did I do?”

  Her eyebrows nearly disappeared into her hairline. “How can you stand there and ask me such a ridiculous question? Because of your foolish actions I now have two templars thinking I have been sleeping with you _and_ Fenris!” She groaned aloud, lamenting, “What in the world am I supposed to tell Fenris?”

  “You’re the one that came up with that bright idea of an alibi, not I. If you remember, I told you to stay out of it,” he pointed out to her with a grumble.

  “Fine, I’ll be sure to let the templars drag you off to the Gallows next time,” she replied, glaring back at him.

  She was furious with him. How could he not realize that his actions-on the Gallow’s grounds, no less- would only make things that more difficult for the Circle mages? The templars would institute stricter measures, curtailing whatever meager freedoms they may still possess. It now would be almost impossible to liberate those mages from Kirkwall’s Circle that wanted out.

  “Why would you take such a foolish risk?” she asked. “What if you had been caught on the grounds while setting that fire? Or while helping those two mages escape?”

  “I would have figured something out,” he replied defensively. He winced and rubbed his bruised jaw. “Damn, you have a hell of a right hook,” he muttered.

  Ignoring the slight twinge of guilt she felt for injuring him, she gave him a heated look. “Did it even occur to you that had the templars apprehended you, my status as Champion would not have been enough to protect you?” His gaze slid away from hers and by his sullen expression, she knew that it had not.

  “Blast it, Cat! They were going to make both of them into a Tranquil! Their fate had been sealed by Meredith because she sees Blood Mages where there are none!”

  “And were they?”

  Anders scowled at her, disgusted by her question. “Of course not- you know I detest mages that resort to such a foul thing. I would never help a true Blood Mage escape from the Circle.”

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared at him in angry silence, unsure what to believe anymore. Would he help a Blood Mage escape? His anger at such a suggestion seemed genuine. Yet Carver would have her believe that Anders no longer differentiated between law-abiding mages and workers of the dark arts when he spoke of freeing mages. She could never condone any actions that would allow a true Blood Mage to have such freedoms that would allow these workers of black magic to operate in Thedas unchecked. Moreover, in the past, Anders had agreed with such a view. She and Anders had always thought alike when it came to the mage/templar issue; in fact, she generally thought that they had similar views about most issues. Now, she was starting to feel that she didn’t understand his point of views as well as she thought did. Maybe she didn’t know _him_ , as well as she had always believed.

  And coming to this realization only made her that more furious at him. Other than her brother and Fenris, there wasn’t another person alive that she loved more than Anders… who was considered a closer friend. The thought of losing him to the templars, to the Circle…or to something else… was unbearable.

  “Blood and Damnation, Anders- what am I going to _do_ with you!” She eyed the sudden grin that slowly made its way across his face. His thoughts were clearly going in a direction that- for his own sake- he would be wise to keep unexpressed. “By Andraste’s Ashes, if you don’t wipe that ridiculous grin off your face I’m going to punch you again,” she threatened through gritted teeth.

 Anders let out a short laugh then winced. Raising a hand to the bruised area of his face, he tenderly felt the part of his lip that had split, wincing again at the pain his exploration caused. “Bloody hell, that hurts.”

  Feeling another twinge of guilt, she snapped, “For Maker’s sake, Anders. Just heal yourself.”  The sight of his rapidly swelling lip and bruised jaw stirred her compassion and her resolve to stay angry with him was starting to crumble.

  “Maybe later. I rather like the idea of knowing that every time you look upon my marred handsomeness, you’ll be feeling guilt and generally really bad for hurting me,” he replied. “That should keep those claws of yours in check.”

  Hawke counted silently to ten and reminded herself all the reasons why he was her best friend, for there were days- like today- when she seriously wondered _why_.

  The door of the clinic swung open and a petite woman, carrying a small child in her arms, entered. Anders turned to them, and seeing the hesitation in the female, he smiled and then bade her to come in. Hawke nodded when Anders excused himself from her presence and watched as Anders walked towards the woman and child.

  Hawke watched as Anders spoke to the woman, listening intently to every word she said. Every so often, he would nod his head, or smile in response, and she noticed that his manner put the woman quickly at ease. After a short time, Anders took the child- a young girl- from the mother’s arms and they all moved to the closest examination table.

  Observing Anders at work, watching the interactions he had with the mother and child, Hawke could see how much he loved his work as a Healer. The compassion he had for those who were sick, or who were suffering, was immense and boundless. His care and concern for Kirkwall’s less fortunate denizens was genuine, and a beautiful thing to behold.

  Watching him as he ministered to the child, it reminded her why she had been drawn to Anders in the first place, why she loved and cared for him. There was an innate goodness in him, a light that the darkness, which warred within him, could never completely quell or diminish. That is why she would never abandon Anders, why she believed there was still hope for her friend.

  Settling down on an empty chair to wait for Anders, she came to a decision- a decision that would undoubtedly cause more friction between her and Fenris- yet it was the only one she could make. She would continue to follow her heart and trust him, standing by Anders in all things; she would continue to fight by his side no matter what.

  Looking around at the poor conditions of his living area here in the clinic, she also came to another decision; it was high time that Anders came back home to her estate. She needed to be able to keep a better eye on him, and she was not able to when he was staying here, or over at the Hanged Man with Varric.

Now she just had to figure out a way to tell Fenris.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

The worn hinges creaked as Hawke cautiously pushed open the door; she paused, listening for any signs of movement from within the study. Opening the cellar’s passageway door a little wider, she leaned forward, craning her neck as she peeked around the corner of one of the tall bookcases. The study’s upper level, at least, appeared to be empty.

  Anders leaned forward as well, his warm breath gently stirring the strands of her hair as he peered over her head into the room before them. Irritated, Hawke jabbed her elbow back into his midsection, hissing to him to stop crowding her. Hearing his disgruntled retort, she quieted him with a sharp gesture of her hand then cautiously moved through the doorway and entered the top floor of her study.

  She heard the door shut behind her, then the sound of Anders’ key turning in the lock. Looking back over one shoulder, she saw him replace the silver chain and small key back around his neck and tuck it under the neckline of his robe. He noticed her observation and he flashed a quick smile that did not quite reach his light brown eyes. He seemed tense, which for Anders was never a good thing. A nervous Anders tended to be an unpredictable Anders, and her tautly stretched nerves were already to the breaking point without worrying about whether he would do something foolish.

  She had tried to convince him to stay down in the cellar until she had broken the news to Fenris. She just didn’t think it would be a good idea for him to be seen before she had explained everything to Fenris, but the idiot mage would hear nothing of the sort, refusing to take any type of precaution. Sometimes she really thought Anders had some sort of death wish, or that he found some perverse enjoyment in seeing just how far he could push things with Fenris- or with the Templars, for that matter.

  She realized she had been staring at Anders overly long, when he cleared his throat and gave her his ‘well, shall we get on with things already?’ look. She almost retorted with, ‘well, it’s your funeral’, but stopped herself from voicing the quip, suddenly all too aware that it might actually lead to his demise if things went badly with Fenris.

  Hawke turned to face Anders. Hesitating, she studied him in silence for a moment. “Anders…”she began, “promise me that no matter what happens, you won’t bring Justice into things.”

  Anders gave her an insulted look. “You think I need Justice’s help to win a fight with the elf? I am more than capable of protecting myself from whatever Ser Broods-A-Lot may try to do, thank you very much.” He gave a derisive snort and continued to eye her with an indignant expression.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Anders. Templars and Fenris tend to bring out the worst in you, and well… you know what can happen.”

  Anders sighed with irritation. “Yes, I know. But fortunately, I don’t happen to hate the elf, so there is little reason for you to worry that Justice will come out.”

  Hawke considered his answer for a minute and then nodded her head. Anders may not particularly like Fenris, but she had always known that he bore him no real malice. That was something he reserved entirely for the Templar Order.

  “Now that we’ve straightened that out, can we move on?” asked Anders, tapping his fingers impatiently against the side of one thigh. “As much as I enjoy the lovely ambiance of the library-”

  “Study,” she interjected automatically.

  “Whatever,” he replied with a slight frown at her interruption. “I would much rather be enjoying the comfort of my bed right now, so if you have no further objections with me re-inhabiting my old quarters…”, He waited a heartbeat, arching one brow at her, “…the elf will just have to accept the fact that I’m back here to stay.” Anders started to walk past Hawke, but then he stopped abruptly and addressed her again. “Cat, last time I checked _you_ were the mistress of this house, not Serrah Glow-in-the-Dark. It might be time to remind the elf that he has no say in the matter. If you ask me, it’s a bloody shame that you have to sneak into your own home because the elf can’t get past his blasted jealousy.”

  Hawke watched Anders as he walked away and took the stairs leading down to the lower section of the study. “His name is _Fenris_!” she hissed after him between gritted teeth, irritated by his choice of descriptive names for Fenris, but also because she knew Anders was somewhat right. In the end, it was her choice who she allowed to live under her roof. Then again, if Fenris was to be a permanent part of her life, she must at least try to consider his wishes when making decisions- even if his demands _were_ rooted in feelings of jealousy.

  Trying to catch up with Anders, she descended the staircase a little quicker than was prudent for someone in her condition. She managed to reach the bottom step without any mishap, though she barely succeeded at not plowing through the back of Anders who had stopped to wait at the foot of the staircase. When he quickly turned round and clasped her forearm to steady her, Hawke mumbled her thanks and shot him an apologetic look.

  Eyebrow raised, Anders just shook his head at her recklessness; removing his hand from her arm he stepped aside to allow her by. Stepping down off the last step, she moved past him and headed towards the opened doorway of the study.

  Now if only her luck would hold out, maybe she could manage to get Anders upstairs and into his room without running into Fenris. She should have her head examined for bringing Anders back into her home to live. And she thought _Anders_ was the one with the death wish. She glanced over at him as he walked a half-step behind. Anders smiled as their eyes met; his smile still appeared strained, though she had to admit he put on a good front.

  Hawke’s return smile was a bit wobbly and faded quickly. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, as she walked the few last paces to the room’s entrance. She felt Anders’ concerned gaze still on her as she walked across the threshold and into the main room of her home. She took a quick, nervous look about the large room.

 It was empty.

  Her shoulders sagged in relief and she gave a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker, who it appeared had not completely turned a blind eye to her after all. She turned around and looked at Anders, who was trying his best to appear nonchalant and not at all as relieved as she certainly felt. He didn’t fool her one whit.

  “I think we’re safe. I don’t hear any sounds of movements from upstairs, so maybe everyone is out.” She frowned as a thought entered her mind. “Unless they are all in the kitchen…” Uneasy, her voice trailed off as she listened for any telltale sounds made from anyone who might be in the back rooms of the manor.

  Anders shrugged his broad shoulders. “Well, I don’t hear anything.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Besides, if anyone else but us were here, that mangy hound of yours would have had me flat on my back already, licking me to death in that disgusting way he does, while breathing his dog-breath in my face.”

  Hawke smiled when she saw an uncontrolled shudder run through his body. Anders was most definitely a cat person, though he did try very hard to tolerate her Mabari.

  “That’s just Ser Dog’s way of showing you how much he likes you.” She hid another smile when he rolled his eyes. “But I agree with you. It looks like we’re alone.” 

  This time, Anders’ expression mirrored Hawke’s look of relief. Tilting his head to one side, his look now sober, he studied her face. After a moment, he reached out and took one of her slender hands into his.

  “Thank you, Cat. Thank you for always standing by me.”

  “There’s no need to thank me,” she replied softly. “You’re my closest friend, Anders. I’ll always be there for you.”  Anders’ gaze wavered; a shadow passed across his face. She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  His brow furrowed in thought, smoothed, then furrowed again. Hawke studied him in return, puzzled by his reaction.

 “Why?”

  Taken aback, Hawke blinked at him. She didn’t understand why he appeared so… perplexed. Why _wouldn’t_ she stand by Anders?

  Anders regarded her intently. “Why, Cat? There has to be a reason more than mere friendship.”  In exasperation, he raked the fingers of his free hand through the front of his hair. “Why are you so bloody determined to stand by me, no matter what?” Staring into her eyes, he searched their depths. “Why would you continue to help me, when you have so much more than I to lose?”

  Hawke felt her heart constrict at the amount of pain and conflict she saw reflected in Anders’ light brown eyes. Her throat tightened and she felt the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes as his visage gave her a brief glimpse of his tormented and ravished soul.

  She opened her mouth to try to answer Anders, but she felt a sudden shift in the room’s atmosphere- that familiar tingling sensation along her skin, that deep pull within her insides whenever _he_ was near. Her eyes widened at the sound of his voice.

  “I am rather interested in hearing your reasons myself, Hawke.”

  Quickly pulling her hand out of Anders’ grasp, she turned to look at Fenris. “Fen-Fenris...,” she whispered, stuttering his name, her eyes growing even larger at the sight of him.

  Though Fenris had spoken softly, she heard the undercurrent of anger in his voice. Her eyes locked with his and she took an involuntary step backwards in an attempt to escape from the unmistakable fury emanating from within their green depths. Her hand flew to the bottom of her throat; she nervously plucked at the clasp at the neckline of the cloak she was still wearing, fidgeting under the weight of his censure.

  His hard gaze flickered downwards, skimming over her upper body as his eyes followed her nervous movements. She heard his sharp intake of breath as his eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed to the front of her cloak. Following the line of his sight, she looked downwards and cringed; crimson drops covered her front in a blood-splattered pattern.

  Jerking her head upwards, she quickly opened her mouth to explain the presence of the blood on her clothing, but Fenris was no longer standing across the room. She caught a flash of movement to her right, and whipping her head around to follow the lightening-fast blur of glowing, bright bluish-white light, she saw Fenris- his hand now clenched tightly around Anders’  throat- lift the surprised mage upwards until the tips of his black boots were barely touching the tiled floor.

  Grabbing at the hand that held his neck, Anders struggled to release himself, but the more he attempted to free himself from the elf’s iron grip, the more tightly Fenris would squeeze his windpipe. Soon Andres had no choice but to cease his frantic struggling in order to draw in even the faintest of gasping breaths.

  “Fenris, stop! Just let me explain!”  Hawke started forward, but abruptly stopped when Fenris- his eyes still trained on Anders- snarled at her to stay put and to come no closer. She winced and bit her lower lip to keep from crying out when Fenris suddenly slammed Anders up against the wall, pinning him there with his hand still at his throat.

  “I will ask you just once, _mage_ \- so be very careful of your answer if you wish to draw another breath,” stated Fenris with a menacing quietness. He leaned his body forward slightly, his steal-gloved hand tightening around Anders’ reddened neck.  “Why is Hawke’s clothes stained with blood?”

  “Anders won’t be able to answer if you throttle the life out of him, Fenris!” she pointed out in her angry exasperation.  A tight, cold smile played across his face and she wondered if that was his very intention- to strangle Anders to death. “Please _…please_ just let him go,” she pleaded, “and I’ll explain everything to you!”

  Anders strained smile mirrored Fenris’ in its coldness. His unflinching gaze bored into Fenris, even as the elf applied more pressure against his throat. “You should listen to Hawke, _elf_ ,” he managed to rasp out between struggled breaths. “Didn’t your former master ever teach you that it isn’t healthy to antagonize a mage?”

  She was afraid that the surprising control that Anders was presently demonstrating would abruptly end, and if he decided to fight back with full force… She shuddered. The thought of all the damage the pair could do to each other made her blood run cold. She studied Ander’s eyes carefully, watching for any signs that might signal an imminent manifestation of Justice.

  Hawke took a single step forward but then abruptly stopped when she came under the immediate scrutiny of the two males. Both gave her a hard, warning look that had her thinking, yet again, that Fenris and Anders were more alike then they cared to believe.

  Something that Varric had said to her one day about Anders and Fenris, suddenly popped into her head; the only reason they tolerated each other was because they both were in love with the same woman. She had laughed at the absurdity of the idea- that it was love of her that kept the pair civil- and Varric replied, _‘But Hawke, you forget- a man will do almost anything to make the woman he truly loves happy.’_

  “Fenris?” she began, her voice low and soft, barely a whisper. “I know with those ears of yours, you can hear me. If I mean anything to you at all…if the love you vowed to me is real…please let him go. Do it for me, Fenris. Do it because you love me.” A wave of shame rushed through Hawke for using his love for her in such a manner, yet what other choice had he left her? Her breath grew quick and shallow as she watched Fenris, waiting to see if he would heed her desperate request.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“And Fenris let Anders go? Just like that? That is… surprising,” Aveline said, shifting her seat on the bench to better view Hawke’s face. “I thought Fenris immune to such obvious machinations.”

  Hawke frowned, trying to decide if she should feel insulted by her friend’s comment. “I feel bad enough about the whole thing, without you rubbing it in further, Aveline.” She let out a long sigh. “And to answer you, yes- Fenris let him go. But not without breaking his nose first.”

  Aveline’s eyebrows shot up quickly, but she remained silent.

  Hawke studied the Guard-Captain for a moment. “You don’t seem all too surprised by what I just said.”

  Aveline shrugged. “We _are_ dealing with Fenris and Anders; you know as well as I, that Anders has trouble keeping that sardonic tongue of his under control. Do you know what it was he said to push Fenris over the edge like that?”

  Frowning, Hawke shook her head. “I’m not sure I even want to know, to tell you the truth. But for Fenris to lose control like he did…” She gave another slow shake of her head, leaving the rest of her thoughts on the subject unspoken. She met Aveline’s eyes. “Like I said- I’m not sure I want to know.”

 Aveline glanced away as the raised voice of one of Kirkwall’s guards across the courtyard caught her attention.  She leaned forward in her seat, her hand going automatically to the sheathed sword at her side, as her narrowed gaze followed the movements of the guard and the miscreant he chased.

  Hawke’s smile portrayed her amusement. “Aveline, you trained your city guards well. I’m fairly certain they can apprehend a single cutpurse without your assistance.”

  Relaxing, Aveline sat back and turned her attention once more to Hawke. “Smile all you want, but it’s my job to watch over those that have been put under my command. We protect and take care of our own, Hawke.”

  “You’re a rare breed of woman, Aveline. Kirkwall is fortunate to have you as its Guard-Captain.” Hawke reached over and gave the woman’s forearm a gentle squeeze. “And I am most fortunate that I have you as a friend.”

  Aveline’s face colored slightly, but her sincere smile showed Hawke that the sentiment was mutual. Hawke squeezed Aveline’s arm one last time before removing her hand. She figured she had embarrassed her friend enough for one day.

  Hawke fidgeted for a moment, trying to find a more comfortable purchase on the hard bench she sat on. As the passing days brought her nearer to the time of her delivery, she found herself at odds with her own body. Moments of complete comfort and easy movement were few and fleeting at best.

  She had come to the conclusion- not without some feelings of chagrin and more than a little guilt- that she was not one of those woman who enjoyed being pregnant.

  Looking down at her rounded stomach, she rubbed the palm of one hand across the wide expanse of her womb. She would enjoy being a mother to Fenris’s son, though, of that she had no doubt. She hoped he had his father’s shade of eyes. And his smile. She loved Fenris’s smile.

  She pursed her lips tightly together and frowned as she thought back on what had transpired a few short hours ago. Fenris certainly had not been smiling then, and she was sure that wherever he may be now, his expression was devoid of anything that even faintly resembled a smile.

  The sound of Aveline’s voice penetrated her silent musing. Looking up, she turned her face towards her friend. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

  Aveline repeated her question. “Does Fenris know what happened down at the clinic with Anders and the templars?”

  Hawke could tell her friend disapproved of the way she had handled the entire situation with the templars, although Aveline had not actually come right out and said as much. Instead, the Guard-Captain had just sat there listening, carefully keeping her expression neutral, as Hawke had relayed the entire story.

  As to the answer to Aveline’s question, Hawke had no idea. “He didn’t give me a chance to say anything. After breaking Anders’ nose, he strode out of the estate so quickly, there was little I could say or do.” Her expression turned troubled as she continued on, her voice soft and filled with remorse. “I may have finally pushed Fenris to his breaking point, Aveline. What if….” She stopped speaking, unable to give voice to such a painful thought.

  “What if Fenris decides you’re no longer worth the effort, or the pain you keep causing him?” Aveline supplied, direct and to the point as was her manner. “I should think you would have realized, and taken into consideration, that such an outcome was a strong possibility before placing Fenris in such an unwinnable position as you did.”

  Stung by the truthfulness of her words, Hawke quickly turned her face away and looked out over the courtyard as she blinked back her angry tears. Her relationship with Fenris was not an easy one. _Volatile_ was the word that immediately came to mind. Whenever they interacted with each other, the sparks would inevitably fly- in both the good _and_ the bad ways.

  How in Thedas could she have let herself fall so immeasurably and hopelessly in love with Fenris? With someone who was not a mage? With someone who had such a deep-seated distrust of mages and a clear discomfort of anything that remotely had to do with magic?

  But the thought of living without Fenris was painful…unimaginable. Of not being able to love him, or loved by him in return, the very idea was abhorrent to her. He had become such an integral part of her daily life-her very being- that to lose him would be like losing her use of magic. He was that important, that necessary.

  “Hawke, you’re brooding.” 

  Aveline’s voice broke through her pensive thoughts. She turned her face towards the Guard-Captain, a frown still upon her face.

  “Fenris may be able to pull off that look, but on you it’s rather unappealing,” stated Aveline in her usual no-nonsense way. “Now stop agonizing about what you should or shouldn’t have done- the past cannot be changed. You need to deal what is happening now, today, and that means dealing with Fenris.”

  Hawke nodded in agreement and then turned her head straight to gaze across the courtyard and up the wide steps that led to Viscount’s Keep. She heard Aveline’s low sigh, and felt the warmth of her touch on her arm.

  “I need to get back to my duties. Will you be alright?”

  Hawke nodded her head and gave her a small, fleeting smile as Aveline rose from the bench. Tilting her head up, she said, “Thank you, Aveline. I’m sorry I’m such a burden to you.”

  Aveline’s expression turned angry. “Don’t say that. You have never been a burden. You’ve caused me my fair share of headaches and sleepless nights, I’ll admit, but you’ve _never_ been a burden to me, Hawke. Not ever.” She stared down at Hawke, her face softening. “You’re my family, and I always watch over those in my family.”

  Hawke’s gaze misted over at her friend’s words, and suddenly she found it hard to swallow as her throat tightened with unexpressed emotion. She followed Aveline’s movements as she fixed her sword and shield to her back. What had she ever done to deserve such a faithful friend as this strong, wonderful woman standing before her?

  She watched as Aveline walked away, and her friend’s clear voice drifted back towards her.

 “Now if you had apologized for being one of the most head-strong, stubborn- and entirely too reckless- persons I have ever met… Well, my response would have been slightly different.”


	27. Chapter 27

Anger. Resentment. Overpowering rage. The turbulent emotions came from deep within, scorching his insides as they rose through his body, rising upwards until he thought he would choke on their bitter taste.

  Fenris could not seem to draw a full breath, could not seem to get the air past the tight confines of his throat. The sound of his rapidly beating heart sounded loud in his ears, as each pump of the hurting organ caused more of his heated blood to course throughout each tensed muscle and limb of his frame.

  Walking, head lowered, he peered out from under the long uneven bangs that brushed against his eyes as he made his way along Kirkwall’s busy streets. The alarmed or disapproving looks of several of the nobility, and the curious stares of citizens he passed by, barely registered upon the infuriated elf as his footsteps took him further away from Hightown- from _her_.

  Pain and resentment took hold again, twisting and squeezing his innards in the cruelest fashion. He could not rid himself of the sound of Hawke’s soft and tortured voice, pleading for him to release that damnable mage, Anders! Pleading for him not to hurt that – that-! Words failed him and Fenris snarled out a loud string of Tevinter curses that caused more than a few of the area’s city guards to look his way with acute interest.

   “Fenris, hold up!”

  Fenris stopped short; turning he gave the guard who had spoken his reluctant attention. Moving away from the small patrol of guardsmen, the single guard walked towards Fenris, removing his helmet in the process. Fenris relaxed his stance when he saw that the man that had hailed him was Donnic.

   “Fenris,” said the dark-haired man, greeting him with a nod.

  “Donnic.” Fenris folded his arms across his chest. “What can I do for you?”

  Donnic regarded his friend in silence, his astute eye noting the soiled condition of Fenris’s breastplate. “Been in a bit of a tussle, I see,” stated Donnic, thrusting his chin towards the front of Fenris protective armor. “That blood splattered across you wouldn’t belong to anyone I know, would it?” he inquired.

  Fenris refrained from answering and instead asked, “What is it you want, Donnic?” He shifted his stance, his impatience with his friend growing. “Perhaps you should find someone else more in need of your attention or your help. I require neither.”

  Giving Fenris a good-natured smile, Donnic retained his calm composure despite the elf’s surly manner. Tucking the helmet he held under one arm closer to his body, he replied, “Are you so sure about that last statement? You look like you could use a friendly ear right about now.” He glanced up at the sky, measuring the suns lowering position, and then returned his gaze to the elf standing before him. “My shift will be up within the hour. What say I meet you at the Hanged Man? You appear in need of something to lift your spirits, and after the day I’ve had, I could stand to drink a pint or two of ale.”

  Fenris gave him a stiff nod. The Hanged Man was a good of a place to go as any, especially since he had no real idea where he had been heading when Donnic stopped him. If he were fortunate enough, maybe the river of ale and whiskey he planned to pour down his gullet would free his mind from the day’s memory, or at the very least, allow their events to fade mercifully away into a drunken haze of cheap alcohol. Parting from the guardsman, he headed in the direction of Lowtown with a clearer purpose.

  Fenris negotiated his way through the throngs of pedestrians that clogged the busy throughways of the lower part of the city. Entering the Lowtown Bazaar, a few of the merchants called out a cheerful greeting as they bid him to try their wares. Most received a baleful glare from the elf, but a few of the more exuberant shopkeepers earned themselves a snarling ‘Let me be’, when they dared to reach out a hand in the hopes of gaining his attention as he passed by their stands.

  He knew that his obvious displeasure with the world around him only served to bring undo attention to himself, making him even more conspicuous than normal, but even if he made an effort to appear less nocuous in demeanor, he would _still_ stand out. The lyrium markings on his skin, the shape of his ears- the fact that he was a known companion of Hawke- all played a part in his inability to appear …ordinary. No matter how much he wished otherwise, he would never be one of the common, faceless citizens of Kirkwall that led a quiet life of anonymity.

  He rounded a corner and the iconic form of the bound and blindfolded, upside down hanging man came into view. Walking towards the well-known tavern, he glanced up at the figure, wondering idly who the man represented. He was probably meant to be a warning to all who entered that they better be able to settle their bill at the end of the night- or else.  

  Fenris pushed open the heavy, scarred wooden door and entered into the Hanged Man. He paused for a moment at the threshold so his eyes could acclimate to the dim lighting. Taking a quick perusal of the tavern’s interior, he took note of which patrons were armed and where everyone was presently located.

  He did not expect there to be any trouble, but it never hurt to be prepared. Not everyone could hold their liquor and there was always a fool or two who, after drinking large quantities of alcohol, wanted to test their false sense of bravado and imagined prowess with a blade on a fellow patron.

  Although it was still early in the evening, a noisy and enthusiastic crowd of men and woman already filled the large room of Lowtown’s favorite drinking establishment near to capacity. Fenris spied an unoccupied table in a darkened corner at the back of the room that suited his purpose. He crossed to the other side of the bustling area and chose a chair that afforded him an unobstructed view. While keeping his back to the wall, he relieved himself of his weapon, placing the long sword within easy reach alongside his chair, and sat down at the octagon-shaped table.

  Searching the room for Norah, he leaned forward, caught the barmaid’s eye and signaled her for a drink. Acknowledging him with a harried smile, Fenris heard her say, ‘I’ll bring you the usual, luv, just give me a moment.’ He responded with a brief nod and leaning back into his chair, he sank into the shadows once more.

  The sound of boisterous laughter and raised voices in the midst of numerous conversations swirled around Fenris, calming his inner turmoil; he found a sort of comfort in the normality of it all. Here, the only thing that mattered is if you had enough coin for drink, and enough good sense to keep your business to yourself. And that you had no qualms to sharing the space with some of the more disreputable inhabitants of Kirkwall, of which many, Fenris noted, appeared to be liberally scattered about the Hanged Man tonight.

  For the most part, the tavern’s population ignored his presence, which suited him just fine; making small talk was not something he generally enjoyed doing, even when he was in the best of moods. And those brave souls foolish enough to openly stare at Fenris as he sat at the back of the room, soon found out what it was like to come under the scrutiny of the formidable elven mercenary. Leaning forward into the light, he met their hostile gazes and stared down each one in turn; his cold green eyes silently warned, ‘ _Do not fuck with me tonight’_.

  When the last person had dropped his eyes and suddenly found some other area of the room to set his gaze upon, Fenris relaxed and settled back again into his chair, confident that now he would be able to drink in peace. Which reminded him- where in the Void was his bloody drink?

  As if his impatient thought had conjured the barmaid, Norah appeared at his side with a tall ceramic mug of ale. Setting the cup on the table in front of him, she paused, eyeing him.

  “You’re in a bit of a mood tonight, aren’t you luv? How’s about I bring you a whiskey chaser to go with that ale?”

  As far as he was concerned, he had every right to be in a ‘bit of a mood’ as she had put it, but why did people have this need to point such things out to him? It rather irritated him.

  Fenris glanced at her before taking a long draught of the dark ale. “Bring the whiskey and more ale.” Raising the mug to his lips again, he paused, his gaze on the drink before him, “Run a tab, Norah. I do not want to see my cup empty tonight.”

  The server nodded, and Fenris caught the gleam in her eyes. He knew it was in anticipation of the extra coin she would receive, for he always tipped well, especially when he was brooding. Norah left him alone with his drink and headed back to the bar. It was going to be a busy night for her, indeed.

  Tipping the mug up, Fenris drained half a pint of the alcohol, savoring the taste of the dark brew as it slid over his tongue and down the back of his throat. He still preferred the taste of a fine wine, but the ale and whiskey would serve its current purpose much better than a good bottle of wine- get him drunk fast enough to forget.

  His lips twisted themselves into a wry smile. Never would he have dreamed that a time would come where he would ever wish the assistance of alcohol to help him to _forget_ something: Not when he had spent the last several years desperately trying to _remember_ memories that had been lost. The Maker- if He did indeed even exist- had a very strange sense of humor. He drained the rest of his ale and frowned at the empty bottom of the cup.

  He was pleased to see how quickly Norah returned to his table with a small tumbler of whiskey and another pint of frothy ale. She collected the empty mug and the two silver coins he had tossed onto the table for her, giving him a quick smile of gratitude before leaving him alone once more.

  Tilting his head back, he raised the short glass to his mouth and swallowed its contents in a single gulp. His eyes watered slightly as the whiskey burned its way down into his insides. Holding back his sudden need to cough, he allowed the strong drink to work its magic; a feeling of warmth immediately spread throughout his body, filling him with a pleasant sensation.

  Stretching out his long legs under the table, he leaned further back into his chair and reached for the tall mug that held his ale. After drinking half the malted beverage, he lowered the cup and surveyed the room before him with a lazy gaze.

  While the liquor he had consumed was helping to relax him, still his thoughts kept returning to Hawke and his part in the earlier events that had transpired at her home. Looking down at his right hand, the small flecks of red covering the top of his steel gauntlet served as further reminder of what he had done. That he had allowed the mage to goad him into such an act of violence in Hawke’s home galled him to no end. Though he had found an immense sense of satisfaction when his fist had connected with the flesh of the mage’s nose and felt the bone break beneath the force of his assault, he should have been in better control of his anger. He should have had better control of the pain and fear that gripped his mind-his soul- when the mage spoke those words…

  _No_. He would think no more on what that abomination had insinuated as to the real reason Hawke had chosen himself over the mage. He took another long draught of the ale, trying to ignore the small thorn of doubt that now festered inside him, cruelly implanted by words spoken to him by the biggest thorn of all- _Anders_.

  And to have her plead for him to not harm the mage, to hear her begging on his behalf with a voice that conveyed the depths of the love she felt for Anders- Fenris quickly gulped down the rest of the ale and then slammed the empty mug onto the surface of the table. How much more was he expected to endure at the hands of the woman he loved? Must he forever overlook things that any other sane male- elf, dwarf, or human- would find unreasonable and completely unacceptable?

  He reached for the large pitcher of ale that had somehow appeared at the center of the table and haphazardly refilled the mug to its brim, causing some of the precious liquid to spill over the sides. Scowling at the wasted malt, he tossed back the drink, draining the cup to its very last dreg of ale.

  By the time Donnic arrived at the Hanged Man, Fenris had lost count of how many rounds of ale and whiskey he had consumed. He greeted the off-duty guardsman, saluting him with the half-empty mug he held raised before him, before finishing off the rest of the drink. Setting the cup down with a thud, he gestured towards the empty chair across the table from him, telling Donnic to take a seat. Looking past Donnic, he caught Norah’s eye and signaled her to bring an empty mug and more ale; he then turned his attention to his friend.

  “Donnic, you’ve arrived. Have a drink. The first round is on me.”

  Donnic took in the empty pitchers scattered across the tabletop, and then gave Fenris an appraising look. “It looks like it will take several rounds for me to catch up to you. You might want to slow it down a bit.”

  “I’m not sufficiently drunk enough yet.”

  “Care to talk about it?”

  Fenris glanced at Donnic and then placed his attention back on the tumbler of whiskey he held. “Talk about what?” he asked in a tight voice.

  “Whatever it is you are running away from,” replied Donnic.

  Giving his friend a sharp look, he quickly drained the glass and then set the empty tumbler down with a small thud. “Leave it alone.”

  Donnic regarded the elf in silence for a moment, but then gave him a nod. “Fine, have it your way Fenris.”  He poured himself a liberal amount of ale from one of the fresh pitchers that Norah had brought, and raised his cup for a toast. “To weapons, women, and smallclothes.”

  Fenris gave him a puzzled look. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “Three things that make a man’s life easier- especially when they are a perfect fit-but if they’re not, well… then you have to put up with the chaffing.”

  Fenris raised an eyebrow at the strange analogy but then laughed when the meaning hit him. Shaking his head, he raised his ceramic mug and said, “To weapons, women and smallclothes then.”  He drank deeply of the ale and then set the cup down. “Chaffing…,” he mused aloud. He looked across the table at Donnic and asked, “Why would a man put up with the chaffing?”

  Donnic put down his drink as he thought over his answer. “The first sword I ever owned was given to me by my father. The blade, it was forged from the finest steel, and its hilt was just the right length, its grip made especially to fit my hand. I learned everything I know about swordplay while using that weapon.” He paused and smiled before continuing his story, “But time marches on, and as I grew into a man, my beloved sword no longer was a perfect fit for my hand. But I use it still, maybe not as much as before- gives me blisters sometimes- but I’ll not part with it.”

  Fenris studied the man, a bemused frown on his face. “But wouldn’t it make more sense to not use the old sword anymore?”

  Donnic smiled again. “When does loving anything ever make sense? That blade is a part of my past, part of what made me who I am today. It may not be a perfect fit, but that doesn’t lesson my love and appreciation for such an otherwise fine weapon.”

  Fenris deepened his frown, his eyes narrowing at Donnic as he leaned forward in his chair. “Am I supposed to infer some sort of hidden meaning from this story of yours? Was this just a ploy to get me to talk about Hawke and I?”

  Donnic took a sip of his ale before answering. “I simply answered your question, Fenris. If you find some sort of comparison between me and my sword, and you and Hawke, well…” He shrugged and raising his drink to his lips, smiled into the mug of ale.

  Fenris slouched back into his seat and rubbed his temple. His head was starting feel like it was stuffed with wool and a dull ache was starting to pound behind his eyes.

  He had come to the Hanged Man to try to forget his troubles with Hawke, but he had spent the entire night thinking of nothing else. He loved her, plain and simple. Neither of them was a perfect fit for the other, but somehow they continued to make their relationship work- chaffing, blisters, and all.

  Fenris was aware that Donnic was watching him with speculation and some amusement. Part of him enjoyed the fact that he had someone in his life that he called a true friend, yet it also alarmed him that the friendship had made him somehow that transparent to Donnic. Then again, maybe that was all Hawke’s doing.

  “Elf- there you are!”

  Fenris looked up and saw Varric heading in his direction. “Did we have an appointment I’ve forgotten about?”

  Varric shook his head. “No, I just hoped that I would run into you and here you are,” explained the dwarf. He greeted Donnic and then took the seat to Donnic’s right, placing his beloved crossbow, Bianca, on the table within easy reach. Norah arrived at the table and set down a clean mug next to Varric. The affable dwarf smiled his thanks and poured himself a drink, watching as Norah walked away. “She’s a good server, but I still say that what this place is in sore need of are a few pretty dwarven waitresses.”

  “And I was so sure that Bianca was the only female you had need of Varric,” stated Fenris.

  Varric grinned. “Ah-hooo! The elf does have some humor left in him after all.” He took a long swig of his ale, and then wiped the froth from his mouth with the back of his other hand. He gave Fenris an once-over. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you look like nug-shit, Elf.” He looked at Donnic and cocking his head in Fenris’s direction, he asked, “Just how many rounds has he had?”

  “Several, if I had to hazard a guess by his relaxed manner of speech,” replied Donnic with a shrug. “I only arrived here not too long ago, and he was already well into his cups.”

Varric turned his attention back to Fenris. “So, who is it this time? Hawke, or Blondie?”  He smiled good-naturedly when Fenris muttered something in Tevinter and shot him an irritated look. “Ahhh… _both_ of them.” Settling back into his seat, Varric set an elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned his chin onto his fist; his eyes glinted with anticipation. “Care to elaborate?” If there was one thing the dwarf loved, it was a good story. Varric chuckled when Fenris glared at him in stony silence. “Come now, Elf. You know if you don’t tell me, I’ll just make something up.”

  Fenris growled an unflattering epithet, directing it at the amused dwarf. He was not about to give Varric any more fodder for those exaggerated tales about Hawke’s exploits that he insisted on spreading about Kirkwall. “You spread more gossip than a fishmonger’s wife, dwarf.”

  “Stories, Elf, not gossip. Tales woven from the fabric of truths, with a few threads of exaggeration spun in just to keep things interesting,” corrected Varric. Lifting his mug of ale, he saluted Fenris, and then drank, draining the cup of its contents with great satisfaction.

  Fenris listened with disinterest as Varric and Donnic conversed over their mugs of ale. He repeatedly spurned their attempts to include him in the conversation, and soon both eventually gave up, leaving the elf alone to brood in peace.

  The evening wore on, and the Hanged Man’s noise level rose to a riotous level, the alcohol having worked its own brand of magic to loosen the tongues and inhibitions of many of the tavern’s patrons. Gossip flowed like cheap wine, allowing those sober and astute enough- and within hearing distance-, an easy way to glean useful information from the liquor infused tales that passed from one acquaintance to another.

  Fenris- with his acute hearing- soon picked up a thread of conversation between two average looking men sitting at a small table by the bar. From their manner of speech and dress, he gathered them to be men that either worked on the docks, or perhaps on one of the ships recently come into port, but that was not what drew his interest. It was their subject matter.

  Sitting up straight, he leaned forward in his chair, placing his forearms on the table and gave the two men his full and undivided attention as he eavesdropped onto their discussion.

  “Elf, if you grind your teeth any harder, you’re bound to crack a tooth or two,” remarked Varric.

  Fenris switched his gaze to Varric and asked, gesturing with his head. “Tell me dwarf, do you know those two men sitting at that table over there?”

  Varric turned in his seat to look at the two men sitting by the bar. “You mean those two over there? The darker haired one goes by the name of Wallace, works down at the docks. Not sure who the other fellow is, although I have seen him in here now and again.”

  “That other fellow’s last name is Parks,” interjected Donnic.  He glanced at Varric. “Can’t remember his first name, but I do know that he has a brother who is a templar.”

  Varric nodded and turned back to view Fenris. “Why the sudden interest in these men?”

  “They were talking about Hawke,” replied Fenris with a frown.

  Varric laughed. “Who in this city _hasn’t_ talked about the Champion? Come now, Fenris, she’s the type of woman who most would take notice of, even if she wasn’t an Apostate.”

  “They were speaking of an incident that happened in the clinic between two mages and two templars,” Fenris responded darkly. “One of those mages was Hawke.”

  Varric sobered at that bit of imparted information. “What in hell has Blondie gotten her involved in now?” wondered Varric aloud. He smiled at the elf, trying to placate him. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, Fenris. Hawke wouldn’t do anything foolish in her condition.”

  Fenris raised an eyebrow and leveled his gaze at Varric. “Then I suppose Hawke telling the templars that she is sleeping with both Anders and I, wouldn’t fall into your definition as doing ‘anything foolish, then’”, he said with a hard edge of anger to his voice. He glowered when a loud burst of incredulous laughter erupted from Varric.

  The loud coughing sound of Donnic choking on his ale had Fenris looking at him with mild alarm. Varric reached over and slapped Donnic on his back a few times with his hand, until the guardsman could draw a breath free from liquid again.

  “By the Maker above,” spluttered Donnic, setting his cup down on the table. “It makes sense now, why Aveline came back to the barracks this afternoon in such an incensed mood.” He gave Fenris a look of pity laced with male commiseration. “Merciful Maker, you certainly have your hands full with that one.”

  Varric finally stopped chuckling and said, “True, but life will never be dull with Hawke around - and think what a story this will make!” He grinned at Fenris. “Just make sure you let me know how this one ends.”

  Fenris reached for his ale and drank the mug dry. Setting the empty cup down, he stood to his feet and gathered his sword, readying himself to leave. He paused a moment and looked across the table at the dwarf. “Let me give you a hint: This story will not end well for at least one of the two mages involved.” 

  “Just don’t do anything you might regret,” Varric cautioned. “And remember, Hawke loves you.” He sighed when the elf failed to respond and looked at Donnic, who just shrugged his shoulders.

  Nodding his goodbyes, Fenris headed towards the exit of the crowded tavern, his mood only slightly less dark than when he had first arrived. As a slave, he had lived a life filled with more than his fair share of regrets, but he was a slave no longer.

  He would deal with Anders in his own way and on his own terms, and he would not feel one single moment of regret. And as for Hawke… Well, maybe it was high time that he fully tested the limits of her love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

 


	28. Chapter 28

Hawke awoke with a start. Sitting upright on the couch, she gave a disorientated glance around the darkened room and struggled to throw off the feeling of panic that still had her in its grip. The erratic thumping of her heart echoed loudly in her ears as she willed her mind to let go of the nightmarish images of her dream. She was in the study of her home and she was safe. It had been nothing but a bad dream. Drawing in a shaky breath, she pulled the soft blanket that enveloped her up under her chin, and sank back against the cushions, willing her tensed muscles to relax.

  She had been fleeing from the Templars in her dream, trying to out-run them as they sought to capture her and take her to one of the Circles. Her run-in with the two templars at Anders’ clinic had given rise to old fears, and had undoubtedly been the catalyst for the nightmare.

  The flames inside the wall lamps had burned down to a dim glow, but the fire within the large stone hearth still blazed bright enough to illuminate the room with a soft light that kept the night’s darkness at bay. The distant chime of the dwarven-made clock that sat upon the mantle in her bedroom caught her ear and she counted to herself the number of musical strikes that marked the hours… _one_ … _three_ … _seven_ … _twelve_. A forlorn sigh escaped her as the sound of the last chime faded away into the Midnight hour, and her heart lurched painfully in her breast when she realized that Fenris still had not returned.

  Her mind went round in circles as she tried to dissect the earlier events that had driven Fenris from her home. If only he would return soon, so that she could try to make amends. Why hadn’t she discussed things with Fenris first, before bringing Anders back into her home? She sighed again and, settling her head back further against the back of the couch, she lifted her eyes to stare up at the high ceiling. She should have handled things differently, should have figured out a way to appease both Anders and Fenris, a way that would have not ended in bloodshed and anger. Of course, for that to have happened she would have had to gag Anders and rendered that wayward tongue of his useless.

  Maybe she should go drag his arse out of bed and _demand_ that he tell her what he had said to Fenris. When she had helped tend to his broken nose, she had inquired what words had been spoken, but Anders had remained stubbornly silent on the subject, insisting it was a matter between him and the elf. She rolled her head to the side and watched the long shadows cast from the fire’s flames, move and undulate along the surface of the walls. Perhaps Fenris was right. Maybe she _should_ have her head examined for being so accommodating to Anders, so unapologetic and willing to stand by his side no matter the cost.

  She tried to put herself in Fenris’s position, to see things from his perspective. If he and Isabela had maintained a much closer friendship, how would she have felt? Hawke frowned, narrowing her eyes at the thought of Fenris and Isabela interacting on any level, and she felt old jealousies buried inside begin to stir. She knew exactly how she would have felt-she would have _hated_ it. And honestly, it really wasn’t a fair comparison, comparing their friendship to the kind she shared with Anders. Isabela wanted much more than friendship from Fenris, in fact she was positively predatory in the way she chased after him. Like a bitch in heat.

  Hawke shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the direction her thoughts had taken. Deep down she knew she was painting Isabela in an unfair light, for Isabela then was simply being… _Isabela_ , but the betrayal by one she had named a friend, had left their indelible marks upon her heart. It was far less painful to remember all the less than favorable aspects of the pirate captain’s character traits, then to recall what Hawke had ultimately found admirable and trustworthy in the woman within whom she had placed such great faith.

  In the end, Isabela had chosen self- interest over friendship, and that was something she did not-could not- understand, let alone forgive. Yet if she was honest with herself, she really could not fault the woman for her attraction to Fenris. He exuded a dark and broody sexiness that drew you to him, and when he spoke to you with that voice, and looked at you with those deep green eyes… Well, any female would be hard-pressed to resist such charms.

  She shifted in her seat again in discomfort, but this time for a very different reason. Her intense attraction to the elf had not lessened as her pregnancy had progressed, and in fact, her desire for him had only increased. Yet for him, her pregnancy seemed to have the opposite effect- the further along she was, the less amorous he became. Hawke looked down at the swell of her belly, thinking how she must now appear in Fenris’ s eyes. Perhaps the unavoidable and somewhat ungainly weight gain of her pregnancy had cooled his ardor.

  Their son moved gently in her womb and she rubbed a hand over the roundness of her stomach. It was not fair! She had very little control over what happened to her body at this point, and she would think that Fenris would consider that factor and be a little more understanding!

  She felt a flash of anger and sitting up, she flung off her coverlet. She refused to waste any more time wallowing in misery and self-pity. She needed to cast off this uncharacteristic meekness of spirit that had taken hold, this feeling of uncertainty that had her doubting her own direction in life. She had never been a weak-willed woman, living her life as others saw fit, letting another direct her future, so why should she be such a person now?

  Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep, slow breath and then let it out. Centering herself, she quieted her mind and took control of all the riotous emotions that had been swirling inside. She could feel the power rising within, as she tapped into that part of herself that fueled her magic and strengthened her will. She called to the Power and it answered her, filling her with renewed purpose, giving her a clarity that had been lacking. She felt stronger… she felt more in control… she felt… _hungry_.

  A soft, self-deprecating laugh escaped from her, and she opened her eyes, shaking her head to herself as her stomach let out a loud rumble of complaint. Using the armrest of the couch for support, she stood awkwardly to her feet. “Well, let’s go see what we can scrounge up to eat in the kitchen, shall we?” she murmured to her unborn child, patting the curve of her belly.

  Arriving in the large, homey kitchen, Hawke took in its tidy and well-organized condition. She knew without even looking that the larder would be fully stocked and just as organized, for Bodahn saw to the running of her household in a very efficient manner. Now if she could only decide what it was she wanted to eat.

  She moved across the room to the rectangular table in the center of the room that served as the food preparation area. Upon the wooden table, a ceramic bowl sat piled high with red and green apples and, looking at the fresh fruit, Hawke had the sudden urge to bake a pie. No, not pie- tarts, she decided. She was hungry and the small tarts would bake much quicker than a pie.

  She enjoyed baking, and was a proficient cook, but she was more than happy to let others tend to the meal preparations for the household, especially now that she had more than enough income to hire the extra help. Yet there had been times, like now, when she would make her way to the confines of the kitchen to prepare one of the many recipes she had learned from her mother when she had been a young girl. To Hawke, these moments spent cooking were like a step back into time when her mother was still alive.

  She gathered the necessary ingredients, mixing bowls, baking tins and utensils for her culinary endeavor, and then following her mother’s recipe by memory, she prepared the tarts, immersing herself in the enjoyment of the creative process.

  Hawke checked the fire in the huge brick oven set into one of the kitchen’s walls, to make sure the temperature was right. She added another wood log to the flames, and then set the first batch of pastries into the interior of the oven.

  Returning to the preparation table, she finished slicing the remaining apples, stopping now and then to wipe off small beads of perspiration from her heated forehead. She had forgotten how warm this area could become when food was baking, and the room’s higher temperature only increased the extra heat her body was already producing due to the pregnancy, making her feel flushed and slightly light-headed.

  “Hawke! Are you alright?”

  Startled by the sound of his voice, she looked towards the doorway in surprise and then winced, the air hissing inward sharply between her clenched teeth as the pairing knife she was using slipped, slicing into one of her fingers. Dropping the offending knife, she lifted her injured hand, frowning at the blood that was welling out from the cut on her index finger. She looked at Fenris who now stood by her side, a look of concern on his face. It was the first time that she could remember in some time that she hadn’t sensed his presence before he appeared.

  “You needn’t have shouted like that,” she grumbled at him. She held out her hand to him. “See what you made me do? I’m bleeding.”

 “Here, let me take a look.” Fenris took her hand, separating the hurt finger from the others, and carefully examined it. “Does it hurt?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

  Hawke stared into his green eyes, the feel of his warm touch doing wonderful things to her insides. She shook her head, and then watched mesmerized, as he raised her hand to his mouth, and parting his lips, he slid them over the extended finger, drawing it inside his mouth. She inhaled sharply, but this time in pleasure instead of pain, as he sucked gently on the sore and bleeding member, before pulling it back slowly out of his mouth.

  “Better?” he asked, his eyes still locked with hers.

  Hawke nodded. Though her finger was throbbing uncomfortably, she did not remove her hand from his grasp, not wanting to end the intimate moment between them. “When you are with me, everything is always better,” she stated softly. He gave her a quick, pleased, half-smile, and she, in turn, smiled back at him.

  Fenris studied her face for a moment and then asked, “Are you sure you are feeling well?” Finally letting go of her hand, he lifted his hand to her face and lightly stroked the curve of her face with his fingers. “Your cheeks are flushed, and when I arrived you looked as if you were about to faint.”

  “I’m fine, really. It’s just a little warm in here. I’ve been baking.”

  “Well, that would explain all the flour you are wearing,” he replied with constrained amusement. “It is a little late to be making…,” he glanced down at the table before them and then back to Hawke, “…tarts is it?”

  “I was hungry, and I felt like apple tarts,” she responded with a small shrug of her shoulders. "Besides, baking has always helped me calm down when-” She stopped abruptly, her lips pursing into a tight line when she realized that she had just revealed to him more than she had intended about her earlier emotional state. “I just felt like baking,” she said lamely in an attempt to cover her mistake.

Fenris did not say anything, but continued to study her, his expression unreadable, though she noticed a slight clenching of his jaw muscles. Hawke continued to return his gaze, feeling off-balanced by his sudden change of mood. Hawke, afraid to ask, wondered if he was thinking of what had happened when he had come upon her and Anders. He finally moved his gaze away from her, settling it on the far end of the kitchen. Hawke noticed he was looking towards the oven.

  “It smells like your tarts are done,” he stated.

  She thought the pastries would have taken a little longer, but she trusted his acute sense of smell. “Would you mind taking them out of the oven for me? I need to finish tending to my finger.”  She waited for his nod, and then headed towards the cupboard where she had stored some clean bandages, and other items used to treat minor wounds.

  Finding what she needed, she moved to the sink and rinsed her hands clean. Taking a small portion of salve from its small container, she applied it to her cut and then wrapped her finger with a small strip of linen cloth. Finished with her self-ministrations, she returned everything to their proper place.

  Moving back to the table at the heart of the kitchen, her mouth watered at the delicious smell of freshly baked tarts that scented the air. Her stomach grumbled at the sight of the small pastries that Fenris had set upon the table. The rest of the uncooked tarts were missing, so she assumed Fenris had placed them into the oven to bake. A quick glance across the room showed that her assumption had been right.

  Her stomach complained again, and she reached her hand out, intending to take on of the tarts. She could practically taste their warm, spiced sweetness in her mouth already.

  “You will just burn your mouth if you try to eat those now. Let them cool first, Hawke,” admonished Fenris from across the room.

  She pulled her hand back, giving him a frown. “But I’m _starving_ ,” she complained. She looked down at the sweets. “I wonder If a very small blast of icy air would do the trick…” she wondered aloud, flexing her fingers as she entertained the thought.

  “Hawke- magic is _not_ supposed to be used in such a trivial manner, and you know it,” he chided, his dark brows slanting downwards in an irritated frown. “They will cool off enough shortly on their own.”

  “It was just an idea, no need to get your smallclothes in a twist… not as if I would actually use magic for that purpose,” she muttered under her breath. Maker above, she could never win with the elf! He never seemed to question her use of magic when it suited his purposes, or when it happened to benefit him in some way or another. She almost told him so, but a noticeable tic had appeared in his cheek.

  In a huff, Hawke turned away from him and busied herself with cleaning up the mess she had made while preparing the apple tarts. Trying to ignore both her hunger and Fenris, she carried the dirty utensils and bowls to the sink and dropped them into the deep basin with a loud clatter. Adding water and soap, she washed the dishes in such irritated haste, that the front of her robe was nearly soaked through before she had finished. Taking a dry linen dishcloth, she dried the front of her garment as best she could, and then went to wipe down the food preparation area.

  Another mage would have understood and not reacted with vexation at such an implied use of magic. Wiping off the last trace of flour from the table’s surface, she glanced over at Fenris as he walked towards her, and said without thinking, “Why I _ever_ got involved with someone who isn’t a mage is beyond me. I should have my head examined!”

  “I have often thought the same thing.” Reaching the table, he moved around its side, stopping a foot away from Hawke. Leaning back, he rested his hips against the table’s edge and folding his long arms across his chest, he simply looked at her.

  Aghast at the words that had just come out of her mouth- and his- Hawke stopped what she was doing, her eyes going wide as she stared at Fenris. There had been a hard edge to his softly spoken reply, though his expression remained neutral, which only served to make her uneasy and increase her horror over the sentiments she had just foolishly revealed.

  Turning around, she leaned back heavily against the side of the table, letting it support her body’s weight. Turning her head to the side, she looked at the strong profile of his face. “I’m sorry Fenris. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”  Her heart ached at the glimpse of pain he was not able to hide as he met her eyes. He nodded once, and then turned his head straight ahead once more. She continued to study him, unsure as what else to say. She was afraid she would somehow say the wrong words again, so she said nothing.

  “Tell me Hawke,” he began, breaking the uneasy silence between them. “Will you answer me a question?”

  “Yes.” She watched him carefully. “What is it?”

  Fenris turned his face towards her again and met her eyes. “And will you be honest in your answer?” he asked, searching her face for a moment, his expression serious.

  “Yes,” she replied once more. “Of course I will.” She held his intense gaze and felt as if he was already measuring the truth of her words. Another moment passed, but he remained silent. “Fenris…?”

  “Why did you choose me over the mage?”

  Hawke stared at him, her mouth falling open in surprise at his question. “I…uhh…What?” she finally stuttered out in response. Her look to him was confused. “We’ve already been over all this, Fenris. I told you what happened between Anders and me.”

  “Yes, you have already told me what had happened when Anders came to you that night, but…” He paused, giving an enigmatic look. “What I want to know is why you chose me in the first place. Why did you choose me over him?”

  Hawke continued to stare at him, perplexed even more by his question and by the odd expression that he wore… almost fearful. Why would he be fearful of any answer she might give? He knew that she loved him. It made no sense.

  She frowned at him for a moment and then gave him the most obvious answer. “Well…because I met you and then fell in love with you.” A child would be able to understand this simple fact, so why did it seem that he didn’t?

  He studied her closer without revealing his own thoughts. “But why would you turn from the mage to me? You told me yourself that you and he were already close, that you found him attractive and were ready to take your relationship farther, that he seemed the perfect match-” 

  “I never said he was my perfect match,” she said, interrupting him. “I just said that we had the same views on most things.”

  “Still… he is a better match for you than I, you must agree. So, then- what changed things?”

  “You did!” she answered, her voice rising in her agitation. “You were what changed my mind, Fenris…meeting you in the Alienage,” she replied with more than a little exasperation. “Is it so implausible that I would decide that it was you that I really wanted?” she asked, completely confounded that he would suddenly question why she fell in love with him. “I was drawn to you in way that I could not explain, did not understand. I had always had a certain vision…in my mind… of the sort of man I would take as a lover…as a husband…but when I met you…” Her voice trailed off and she looked at him helplessly. “My whole world changed.”

  Fenris did not speak, but stared out across the expanse of the kitchen at the far wall, his brow creased as if he was in deep thought. Hawke continued to observe him in unease, wishing he would tell her what he was thinking…what he was feeling.

  “Have you ever thought that the reason you were inexplicably drawn to me was due to these markings I wear?”

  Hawke looked at him in astonishment. “Fenris, just how many pints of ale did you drink this night?” she asked.

  It was Fenris’s turn to look surprised. “I never told you I was at the Hanged Man.”

  “No, you didn’t, but the strong smell of alcohol on your breath, did,” she replied with more than a trace of disapproval in her voice, giving him a look to match.

  “After what happened here, do you really blame me for seeking out such solace as I could find?” The muscles in his jaw twitched.

  “Better the Hanged Man, then the Blooming Rose, I suppose,” she said, giving him a weak smile that quickly faded under the dark look her shot her. Apparently, he did not appreciate her attempt to lighten the moment. “No, I don’t blame you,” she said with downcast eyes. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” she asked softly.

  “I want you to answer my last question.”

  Hawke raised her eyes and looked over at Fenris with a long sigh. He was like a Mabari with a bone- he was not letting it go.

  Looking down at the floor at her feet, her expression grew thoughtful as she pondered his question. She had never actually thought about why she had been so attracted to him the first time they had met. Her forehead puckered in concentration as she tried to dissect the memory of that very first meeting between them.

  She remembered thinking his markings were very different from all the other tattoos that she had ever seen- unique was the word that had come to mind- and that they definitely made the elf stand out. They only added to his attractiveness, at least to her eyes. And then Fenris had spoken… A small shiver of delight went through her now, as it did back then, and she smiled despite herself. Her smile slowly faded as another remembered feeling came to mind, one that was hard to describe and, if she was at all honest with herself, was something that she experienced still when she was with him.

  “Tell me what you are thinking,” demanded Fenris.

  Hawke met his gaze. “To be honest, I never really questioned why I felt so drawn to you that day… like a moth is drawn to the candle’s flame. I felt such a…” she paused, shaking her head as she searched for the words. “It was like I was being pulled towards you, somehow… compelled by a force that I could not ignore, even though in the beginning I tried very hard to, but failed.”  The corners of her mouth drew upwards in a smile at the memory. “You know, I still feel like that even now,” she said. “I don’t know how to explain it, and I probably don’t make much sense, but there it is.”

  “Perhaps, the pull you feel, is nothing more than the lyrium in my markings. It could be your choice of partners was based on nothing more than a mage’s metaphysical reaction to lyrium.”

  “What the bloody-! You think that…?  Are you saying our relationship is…?” Hawke stopped speaking, unable to get an entire cohesive sentence or question out of her mouth. She stared wide-eyed at him in utter shock, astonished that he would even entertain such an idea. That he would believe such a thing! “How can you stand there and say such a thing to me- to the woman who is about to give birth to your son in less than two months?!”

  Pushing away from the edge of the table that she had been leaning against, she straightened upright, and moved away from the table. When Fenris reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, she shied away from his touch.

  “Hawke-”

  “I need to take the rest of the tarts out of the oven before they burn,” she stated, trying, and failing, to keep the anger and hurt from her voice.

  “No, let me take care of it. You looked exhausted. Go upstairs to bed,” replied Fenris, his voice gruff with concern.

  Hawke hesitated for a second, but then nodded her head. He was right- she was exhausted- but she did not intend to go to sleep until she had found the underlying cause of all these questions of his. Something did not feel right. There was much more to things, and by Andraste’s fiery knickers, neither of them would be getting any sleep until she had the truth.

  She started to walk away, but then remembered the tarts. Turning back to the table, she grabbed two of the still too warm tarts to eat, and then quickly juggled them back and forth from hand to hand, as she tried to keep the pastries from burning her fingers. Shooting Fenris a surreptitious glance, she saw him shaking his head, as he tended to the oven. Feeling slightly sheepish, she pocketed the tarts to eat a little later.

  She walked across the expanse of the kitchen, but stopped at the threshold of the door. Turning around to look at Fenris, she inquired, “I’ll see you upstairs, then?” She thought for a moment that he would tell her no- that he would be going back to Danarius’ mansion- but after a moment of hesitation, he nodded his head. She turned and walked away, leaving him in the kitchen, alone with his thoughts.

  By the time Hawke reached her bedroom, she had most of her stronger emotions under some semblance of control. She walked straight to her wardrobe, opened its double doors, and removed one of her nightgowns. Leaving the doors open for Fenris, she went to the stand that held the washbasin and pitcher of water. Removing the garment she had on, she proceeded to wash the days grime from her body, her movements slow and methodic.

  The past events of yesterday occupied her thoughts, replaying in her mind, again, and again. She tried desperately to make sense of the conversation that had just unfolded in the kitchen with Fenris, to understand what it all meant.

  A deep weariness gripped her body and her mind, and she finally gave up trying to fathom the mind of Fenris. She slowly donned her nightclothes, and then walked over to the high-backed chair that sat before the fireplace. She settled herself down on the seat, expelling her breath into a loud, drawn-out sigh; it felt good to be off her feet.

  “Hawke? Go to bed.”

  She jerked her head forward, startled by the sound of Fenris’s voice. “W-what?” she said, trying to focus her eyes on the figure standing in front of her chair. She sat up straighter in her seat and blinked at Fenris.

  “You fell asleep in the chair. Go to bed.”

  “I wasn’t sleeping…,” she said, trying to stifle a yawn and failing. “I was just resting my eyes for a moment.” She glared up at him. “And stop being so bloody bossy.”

  Hawke earned herself an exasperated sigh from Fenris for that remark.

  “Do as you wish, but I am going to bed,” stated Fenris in a tight, tired voice.

  “Oh, no you’re not! You will go fetch another chair, bring it here and then sit. You and I have some things to discuss.”

  Hawke expected him to argue and refuse, and was pleasantly surprised when after a small hesitation, he turned and headed in the direction where the small table and remaining chairs sat. She did, however, overhear his muttered words of “and the woman has the nerve to say I am bossy,” but decided it would be far wiser to pretend that she hadn’t heard a thing.

  She stared into the hearth of the fireplace as she waited for Fenris to sit, and gathered her jumbled thoughts together. She heard the scrape of a chair’s legs along the tiled floor, and she turned and watched Fenris as he took his seat.

  “Do you think me a fool?” she asked without any preamble.

  “No.”

  “Do think I am addled in the brain, then?”

  His brows shot up and he answered, “No, of course not.”

  “Perhaps you think I am some weak-willed ninny that does not know her own mind?”

  “You are being ridiculous, of course I think no such thing,” he growled in irritation.

  “You must, for why else would you question my choice to take you as my lover over all others? I have given my heart, my body and my soul to you, Fenris, and I did not do that on some whim, or due to some imagined feeling.”  Her hands gripped the armrests of her chair and she leaned forward. “I gave myself to you because I _love_ you, because _you_ are the only one in this Maker-forsaken world that can make me happy! And now, you have the unmitigated gall to say it isn’t real…that it is nothing but a reaction to those blasted lyrium markings on you! Well, you can bloody well go to the Void, elf!”   

  Hawke slumped backwards against the chair and turned her face away from him, shaken and angry all over again. She had meant to discuss things in a calm manner, to be reasonable and understanding, but as soon as she had opened her mouth, her volatile emotions took over and her tongue suddenly had a mind of its own. _Maker!_ She was turning into Anders.

  She turned her face to study him, wondering why he remained so silent. Their eyes met and she was taken aback at the level of pain that she saw shadowed within. “Oh, Fenris… even if what you said is true, what does it matter? It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change how I feel now.”

  “It matters to me,” he stated with more than a trace of bitterness. “It also explains why you refuse to let the mage go. Perhaps, deep down a part of you knows that he is the one you should have chosen- would have chosen- except for that inexplicable pull towards me that you yourself cannot explain.”

  “Anders! It always comes back to Anders with you! How many times must I say that it is not him that I love, but you? I just don’t understand why after all this time-” She stopped abruptly as a sudden inspiration hit her and she stared at Fenris. “This preposterous idea came not from you, but from Anders! This is why you hit him, isn’t it? He’s the bloody idiot that put the doubts in your head!”

  He did not answer, but there was no need, for the way he refused to meet her eyes and the dejected slump of his shoulders told her the whole story. Hawke was dumbfounded that Fenris would listen to anything that Anders would say- never mind actually believe it to be true. Maker above, how could he still doubt her love after all they had been through together?  She would have been even more furious with him, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was in such obvious emotional pain. It all started to make more sense, now.

  “I love you, Fenris, but you are a fool.”  She heard his quick intake of breath and saw his eyes narrow at her words. “If you are willing to let Anders get between us, then it doesn’t really matter what words I say, or what I do. You’ve already doomed any relationship that we might have- future or otherwise- simply because you refuse to believe that it is _you_ that I truly want. That it is _you_ that I love.”

  “You are wrong, Hawke. I do know that you love me, but for how long? How long will it be until you decide that you have made a mistake by getting involved with me- with someone who is not a mage?”

  Hawke shook her head sadly. There it was- he had finally come to the crux of the matter. “I can’t predict what our future will hold, Fenris. All I can say is that I love you and I cannot imagine living my life without you. When I think of my future, you are there in it, standing beside me.”

  “And what of Anders?” he asked stiffly. “When you picture this future of ours, is the mage there as well?”

  “In some aspect, I suppose,” she admitted. Her heart sank when his expression turned hard, and she lowered her head, dropping her gaze from his face. She flinched at his bitter tone, when he let loose a loud string of curses that seem to slip much too easily from between his lips. Lifting her head to look at him, she raised her chin in defiance. “You shouldn’t have asked me to be honest in my answers, Fenris, if you weren’t prepared to handle the truth.”

  With a low snarl, Fenris exploded from out of his seat with such force the heavy chair tilted up behind him,  and then fell over backwards, hitting the floor with loud banging sound.

  Hawke shrunk back against her chair and looked up with mounting alarm at the angry elf that now towered over her seat, his face a mask of silent fury. She knew that Fenris would never physically injure her or their unborn son, but that fact did not keep her from sinking farther down into the seat of her chair as his green eyes darkened to that stormy hue of green, a sign which-in her experience- never bode well for her.

  “The only thing I can no longer handle is that you insist on making me a part of this perverse relationship you have with the mage! I am not going to become part of some tripartite relationship with you and that walking abomination, Hawke.”

  _Tripartite?_ Hawke looked up at Fenris, confused. “By the Maker, elf -I have no idea what that even means!” Annoyed that he used a word she was unfamiliar with, she shot him an irritated look, thinking that sometimes she regretted ever teaching him to read. “And my _friendship_ with Anders is not perverse,” she stated.

  With remarkable quickness, Fenris gripped both Hawke’s forearms tightly with his hands, and yanked her to her feet until she was standing before him. Hawke did not attempt to pull away, even though her arms were starting to hurt from his painful grip. Her eyes narrowed slightly when she smelled the strong odor of alcohol on his breath as before.

  “Fenris…don’t do anything you may regret,” she warned him. “You’ve had too much to drink…you’re not thinking clearly.” 

  “Things have become all too crystal clear,” Fenris replied in a deceptively soft voice.

  Warning bells began to clang inside Hawke’s head as Fenris stepped closer to her, but she foolishly ignored them. His nearness and the familiar scent of him was wreaking havoc on her senses- on her body. She felt his pull and she moved a step closer to him, her eyes still locked with his, caught within their tumultuous gaze.

  His face moved closer to hers, and Hawke stilled, her breath catching in her throat when his lips slowly inched closer to her mouth. The need to kiss him was overpowering, and she moaned softly against his mouth when their lips finally met.

  “Tell me Hawke,” Fenris said against her lips, brushing against them lightly with is mouth, “When we kiss is it me you are thinking of, or is it the mage…?”

  Hawke inhaled sharply with a loud astonished gasp and jerked her head away from his face, her eyes widening at his words. Yanking her right arm out from his grasp, she raised her hand and lashing out at him, she let fly a hard, stinging slap to the side of his face. Dropping her hand, she stared at increasing horror at the reddening mark that was forming on his cheek. “You bastard,” Hawke whispered, hating him in that moment for what he had just made her do. “It’s you I want, you I love, you blasted pointed-eared ass of an elf!”

  “So you keep saying,” Fenris responded, his grip tightening on her other arm that he still held within his grasp. “Perhaps it is time that you actually prove your love, then.”

  “Prove it? What in Thedas are you talking about? You make no sense, Fenris!”

  “Choose.”

  Hawke heart stilled for a beat then started again, painfully thumping within her chest. It had finally happened, the thing she dreaded most. He was going to make her decide between him and Anders. “Fenris… please,” she whispered. “Don’t make me do this…”

  “You have left me no other option, Hawke. Choose.”

  “I can’t…please, please don’t do this to me Fenris.”

  “If you refuse than I will make the choice for you, Hawke,” Fenris replied quietly, his voice hard and sharp as flint.

  “But what of your promise? You promised-”

  “Even promises have their limits, as do I,” Fenris said cutting her off. “Now choose, Hawke.”

  Hawke pulled hard against his grip and he released her arm, allowing her to step back from him. Fighting against the tears that threatened to fill her eyes, she took another step back away from him and then stopped when the back of her legs hit the edge of the chair that was behind her.

  She felt trapped, without hope, and she detested the fact Fenris had effectively stripped away all her options, leaving her with only one choice- the only one she could make under these miserable circumstances. She felt the weight of his gaze on her, waiting for her to give her answer-to decide their future.

  She loved Fenris- Maker how she loved him! And Anders…well, his friendship meant everything. How could she live without each of them being part of her life?

  So she gave him her answer and, when she had given him her choice, she turned and walked out of her bedroom, leaving him behind with all the tiny slivers- the thousands of shattered pieces- that had once been part of her heart, and which  now lay scattered, and forever broken, upon the hard stone floor at his feet.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

Hawke gripped the back of the chair with both hands, her knuckles showing white as she struggled to control her anger. She bit back a sharp retort, trying her best to stay calm while her brother continued to upbraid her with a tenacity that tested the limits of her restraint.

  She was still trying to figure out how he had found out what had happened several days ago between her and Fenris and, frankly, why he should even care. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and glared at Carver, her annoyance with him growing in steady proportions. Of course, it didn’t help matters that he was standing there dressed in his full templar regalia. Every time she saw him dressed thusly, she couldn’t help but feel like he was mocking her and it was all she could do to keep a civil tongue in her head.

  “What were you thinking?” Carver asked heatedly. “Why in Andraste’s name, would you choose _Anders_ over Fenris?”  He threw up his hands in exasperation. “I don’t understand you at all, Sister!”

  “It’s really not any of your business, Carver,” Hawke replied in a tight voice, grinding the words out between clenched teeth. “This doesn’t concern you. Do not mistake me for one of your Circle mages.”

  “Of course it’s my business. Anything that concerns _you_ , concerns me as well, Cat. You may be the elder sibling, but I promised father that I would always do my best to protect you- including protecting you from yourself.”

  “I don’t need your protection, _Brother_. I can manage things on my own.”

  Carver looked over his sister, scrutinizing her in silence. “Yes, I can see how well you’ve been managing. You look like you’ve not slept in days.” His blue eyes swept over Hawke once more, missing nothing. “When did you eat last?”

  Hawke avoided meeting his eyes, and instead looked down at the chair in front of her. “Around midday, I think.”

  Carver’s eyes narrowed for a moment as he considered her words. “You’re lying to me.”

  Hawke looked at him. “I am not,” she replied testily. She _had_ eaten around noontime- it just wasn’t today. She had lost most of her appetite and taste for food, yet she forced herself to eat something each day, if only for the sake of her unborn son. “I’m not about to starve myself, Carver. I haven’t lost all my good sense.”

  He gave her a doubtful look. “I’m not too sure I’d agree with you on that, Sister. You chose a man who will bring nothing but strife and misery to your life, over the one who would give his very life’s blood to protect you and keep you safe.” He shook his head at her. “I would say that you’ve gone and lost any and all good sense that the Maker had ever given you!”

  Hawke brought one hand to her forehead and rubbed it against her temple. She was short on sleep and even shorter in temper, and on top of everything her head was beginning to throb. “Carver,” she sighed, closing her eyes against the dull ache, “Just go away and leave me in peace.”

  She heard the telltale sound of movement and then felt a hand grip her elbow. Opening her eyes, she looked at her brother and then frowned, momentarily distracted by a sound her ear had caught. “Did you hear that?” She gave her brother a puzzled look when he shook his head. “Are you sure?”

 Carver sighed. “I’m sure, Sister. You should sit. We need to talk and you look as if you are ready to collapse.” Tightening his grip, he stood waiting for Hawke to move away from the back of the chair. When she hesitated, he tugged on her arm until she let go of the chair and reluctantly followed his lead to the small couch. Carver waited by her side until she had lowered herself into the seat.

  Hawke settled herself back against the cushions and then turned her weary attention to her younger brother. “Well, I’m sitting… what else did you want to harass me about?”

  Carver shook his head to himself and stared down at his sister. “I’m not trying to harass you, Catelynn. I’m worried about you, that’s all.”

  “Fine. I thank you for your concern, but it’s not necessary. Life will go on, as will I… as will Fenris.” Hawke’s voice caught when she said his name and she looked away from her brother’s astute gaze. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth to keep it from trembling.

  “Why must you be so stubborn? Why can’t you just let Anders go and give Fenris what he wants?”

  “I refuse to turn my back on my friends, Carver! It’s the principle of the thing. Just because Fenris can’t get past his animosity…his jealousy of Anders… Why should I have to give up my friendship with someone who means a great deal to me?”

  “For Maker’s sake, you’re having his child! Doesn’t that bear some consideration on your part? Fenris has stood by you- loved you- contrary to his feelings about magic and mages. What more do you want from him, Sister?”

  “You just don’t understand, Carver. And neither does Fenris.”

  “Then I suppose _Anders_ understands, is that it?” Carver replied with sarcasm. “Maker forbid that anyone other than a mage could ever understand _you_ , Sister!”

  “At least Anders has never asked me to be anything other than what I am! He certainly has never asked me to choose between himself and Fenris.”

  “No… Anders would never ask that of you- not when he can just sabotage your relationship with Fenris in more subtle ways.”

  Hawke stared up at her brother, her lips pressing together into a hard, straight line. She had no response to give Carver, for she had yet to deal with Anders for what he had said to Fenris. He had been spending long hours at his clinic, so it had been easy for her to avoid him during the last several days. As far as she knew, Anders had no knowledge of what had happened between her and Fenris, and she wanted it to remain that way until she was ready to confront him.

  She should have known that Carver would take Fenris’ s side- after all he was a templar and viewed the world in much the same way as the elf. Carver had never cared much for Anders right from the start, so she wasn’t surprised by his attitude.

  “Think what you wish, Carver. I’ve made my choice and everyone will just have to live with it,” she paused, the corner of her lips turned upwards, forming a sad smile that lingered only for a moment, and then she said softly, “Most especially me.”

  Carver let out a sigh. “But the problem is you’ve made the wrong choice.”

  “Perhaps…but it was the only one I could make,” she replied quietly. She turned her head and looked past her brother to stare dismally into the fire that was burning within the hearth. “Fenris left me no other option.”

  “ _You_ left him no other option, Sister. You share you home openly with another man- a man who you have had a past romantic interest in, by the way- and you expect Fenris to just sit by and calmly accept everything.  Do you have no qualms at all about forcing him into such an egregious situation? People are starting to think that you are… that the three of you…” Carver paused, a heated flush staining his cheeks as he floundered for the words. “Well, people are starting to wonder who the father of your unborn child really is,” Carver finally stated, giving his sister a pained look.

  Hawke gave her brother a mirthless laugh. “I must say, you templars are very good about spreading gossip. I’m sure Ser Reginald relished every bit of untruth that he has passed on about me.” She arched one brow at her disgruntled brother. “Really Carver, I am an Apostate Mage- there isn’t much that _hasn’t_ been rumored about me. Besides, Fenris knows he’s the father and that is all that matters, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Shaking his head, Carver crossed his arms and muttered under his breath, “It’s a wonder Fenris doesn’t just give up and say ‘to the Void with you’, and go find himself another woman.”

  Hawke inhaled sharply, and then stilled at his words. Meeting her brother’s eyes, she was unable to hide the hurt she felt at his carelessly spoken words. Carver swore softly under his breath.

  Appearing apologetic, he spoke in a contrite voice. “Forgive me, Catelynn.” His perceptive gaze searched her face with a sudden intensity. “Fenris is not Barit,” he stated in gentled voice. “This is what it’s really all about, isn’t it?”

  Hawke’s hands gripped the bottom seat cushions of the couch, her fingers digging into the material as she fought against the painful memory and the black emotions that named evoked. “You promised never to say his name to me,” whispered Hawke. “I don’t want to remember…” She squeezed her eyes shut in a panicked attempt to re-banish the memories of that period of her life, but already she could feel the darkness closing in on her…pulling her back into its terrible grip.

  Carver quickly fell to one knee before her in alarm, and gripping her forearms he shook her none too gently and demanded her to look at him. When she refused, shaking her head, he shook her again. “Look. At. Me!”

  Fighting to control her emotions, Hawke’s eyes flew open and she stared at her brother. Taking a deep breath, she let it out slowly, repeating this process several more times until she could finally draw a breath without feeling as if she was drowning in a sea of volatile emotions.

  Carver relaxed his grip on her arms, but did not release them. “Sister, I thought you had put all that behind you years ago. You need to let it go.”

 Shaken and surprised by her own reaction, all she could do was nod as a familiar numbness began to take hold, her mind’s way of insulating itself from the worst of the self-destructive memories. “I’m fine now, Carver,” she finally said. “You can let go of me.”

  Carver frowned, but after only a few moments of hesitation, he released her and then stood slowly to his feet. He stood there, still frowning, looking down at his sister, deep in thought. His features suddenly smoothed as if he had made up his mind. “Fenris will never hurt you like Barit. You don’t need to hold on to Anders.”

  Hawke stared at her brother as tears welled in her eyes. “That’s not… I’m not…” She stopped, unable to finish voicing her thoughts- unable to defend or explain herself, or her actions to her brother. Distressed, she knotted her hands together in her lap as she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. How could she ever hope to have him understand, when she no longer even understood herself anymore?

  Leaning over her, Carver laid a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. “You need to tell Fenris what’s really going on with you- maybe it will help him understand things better with you. You can’t keep going on like this, Sister. It’s tearing you apart inside.” He studied her face, making a silent decision. “Tell him,” he warned, “or I will.”

  “Stay out of this,” she responded in a low, angry voice as she blinked back the tears. “You have no right to interfere!” She turned her face away from him, shutting him out. “Leave, Carver. Just go and leave me alone,” she whispered. “Please…”

  Carver removed his hand from her shoulder and straightened without any further words. Turning, he walked away, his head bowed low. When he reached the doorway, he paused before crossing the threshold and lifting his head he looked back at his sister. “I’m here for you, Sister, despite what you may think. All you need to do is send word and I’ll come.”

  Hawke watched in silence as Carver walked away from the study. She knew her brother cared for her, but she was still unwilling to trust him completely- not as long as he remained in the Templar Order.

  Closing her eyes, she allowed her tired body to sink back against the cushioned seat. She needed to sleep, but she was afraid the dreams of templars would plague her again, or worse, that she would dream of _him_.

  “Well, I thought he would _never_ leave!”

  Hawke startled at the sound of his voice and her eyes flew open. Sitting forward, she struggled to turn her body around in the direction his voice had come. “I knew I hadn’t imagined hearing things! Just how long have you been eavesdropping upstairs?” She glared at Anders as he descended the stairway and then walked towards where she sat.

  “Long enough to realize you have been keeping things from me,” he replied, the lines of his forehead deepening into a frown. He moved around the end of the couch and took a seat next to Hawke. “What in the Maker’s name has been going on around here?”  He leveled his eyes at her, his face talking on an expression of deep concern. “Cat… please… tell me what’s wrong…”

  Hawke gritted her teeth, trying to control the rage and feelings of betrayal that threatened to overpower her saneness. For the first time in her life, she wanted to hurt Anders- to bring immense pain to him physically- and it terrified her that she was so close to losing her control.

  Her hands twisted together on her lap, as she warred against herself-against the part of her that wanted to lash out at him with violence for causing such an enormous rift between her and Fenris. A voice inside whispered that he deserved to feel the brunt of her anger and hurt- that he had known exactly what he had been doing when he uttered those words to Fenris.

  She stared into his eyes and all she could see reflected in them was love and concern. She felt wetness against her face as the tears cascaded down the curve of her cheeks and chin, to land on the back of her hands that somehow had found their way into the larger, warmer ones of Anders’.

  “Cat…? Please, tell me.”

  “Even after what you did, I still can’t let you go...” she choked out in a tortured whisper. “Why do I need you so much?”  Her head lowered and her tears turned into quiet sobs that shook her entire form. She felt arms wrap around her and she found herself cradled in Anders’ arms as he pulled her close against his body.

  Hawke continued to cry, emptying herself of her pain and misery. She cried for her unborn son who was unfortunate enough to have parents that could not get past the anger and mistrust, despite the deep love they shared. But most of all, she cried for the future she might have had, but which was now lost to her- all because of the love she bore for the man who held her in his arms.

 

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Hawke awoke with a start. She had been dreaming…which would mean that she had fallen asleep. She struggled to sit up, but soon gave up when she was unable to extricate herself from Anders’ hold.

  “Anders…” She nudged him with her elbow. He moved slightly and grunted, but failed to wake. She nudged him again with her elbow, this time with more force. “Anders- wake up!”

  “Blasted all, woman! I’m awake!” He opened one eye and glared sleepily at Hawke.

  “Let me up then, Anders.” She waited while he slid his arms from around her, and then sat up, stretching her cramped limbs as she went. She yawned and smoothed down the wrinkled material of her clothes as best she could. “We both must have fallen asleep. I wonder what time it is.” She turned her head to look over at Anders, who was studying her. “What?”

  “What do you mean, ‘what’? You completely fell apart not too long ago. Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

  Hawke let out a heavy sigh. “I suppose so,” she paused and eyed Anders. “Although it might be best if you moved out of my reach.” She almost smiled at his look of shock and confusion, but then sobered when the reality of the situation hit her again. “I’m serious, Anders. I can’t be responsible for what happens if you don’t move away.” 

  Anders moved to the opposite end of the couch and studied Hawke’s face once more. After a short moment, he stood to his feet and then moved several feet away to stand in front of the large fireplace, his back to the hearth.

  Hawke looked past him, into the flames that surrounded the large stack of logs in the fireplace. “Fenris told me what you said to him,” she stated quietly, not bothering to hide her bitterness and anger. After a moment had passed, she raised her eyes to look at Anders. “Why would you want to hurt me like that?”

  Anders raked a hand through his hair. “Cat, the elf had me in a bloody choke-hold! I was furious, dammit! I wasn’t trying to hurt you at all. I was trying to get back at the blasted elf!”

  “I don’t believe you.” She met his eyes, refusing to allow his stricken expression to sway her from her course. “I think a part of you wanted to sabotage my relationship with Fenris. I think you knew exactly what you were doing.”

  Anders opened his mouth. “Dammit, Cat! I did not-,” His mouth snapped shut and he shook his head. His shoulders slumped as he let out a long sigh. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve been waiting all this time for you to realize that you chose the wrong person.”

  Hawke stared back at Anders, not sure where to go from there after hearing such a revelation. Not that it was exactly a real revelation. She had always known how he felt about her, and to be completely honest, she had never tried to discourage such feelings.

  “But I refuse to bear the blame alone for this, Cat,” Anders said tightly, echoing her thoughts. “You’ve not exactly kept the boundaries of our friendship clear-cut.”

  “I know,” she replied softly. “I suppose it’s because I’ve always viewed you so much more than just a friend, and because I rely on you so much. Sharing my life with you has been so easy…comfortable.”  She looked away from him again, her eyes going to the floor at his feet. “Fenris always sensed this about me… how I’ve always really felt about you. I guess it was inevitably that he would ask me to… to choose between him and you.”

  She heard Anders swear violently under his breath, but she kept her gaze fixed to the floor.

  “You chose me, didn’t you Cat?”

  She nodded her head and tried not to flinch when he swore aloud. “Don’t you dare swear at me, you ass of a mage!” She raised her head and glared angrily at him. “What did you expect me to do? He backed me into a corner and I…well, I do have my principles, you know!”

  “Blast it all to the Void, Cat! Why would you go and do that for?”

  “Stop yelling at me, Anders! I thought you would be happy. Why are you so bloody angry?!”

  “I’m not angry!” Anders sighed in exasperation and then repeated himself in a much calmer voice, “I’m not angry- not at you, anyway. Sorry that I yelled.”

  “Fine,” muttered Hawke. “You go and put the idea in Fenris’ head that- based upon some _ridiculous_ notion you have- that my feelings for him are due to me reacting to his lyrium markings and _I’m_ the one getting yelled at? Something is seriously wrong here.”

  “Well I certainly didn’t expect Ser Broody to believe it. Since when does the elf _ever_ listen to anything I say?”

  Hawke shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe Fenris is right,” she said miserably. “Maybe I just don’t love him enough or maybe I have no idea who it is I really want anymore.” She let out a surprised yelp when Anders suddenly gripped her arms and pulled her roughly to her feet. She stared at him in shock.

  “Well, there’s only one way for us to be sure,” stated Anders gruffly.

  And then he was kissing her- _really_ kissing her with a passion that caught her off guard. She had to admit to that his technique was near flawless- her body couldn’t help but to respond to his _maleness_.

  Anders hands moved to grip each side of her face and he pulled her closer to him. His lips skimmed across her lips, to her cheek and then to her ear. “Let go and kiss me, Cat,” he whispered against her sensitive skin. “Just do what comes naturally.”

  Hawke hesitated, torn between her feelings for the man kissing her, and one that she desired above all others. But Anders was here and he still desired her even in this late state of her pregnancy, something that Fenris apparently did not.

 Anders moved his lips back to hers, coaxing her with a sensual masterfulness to allow him deeper passage. She parted her lips for him and their kiss deepened, their tongues twirling and clashing together in the age-old dance of desire.

  She breathed in his scent, and though it was appealing to her female senses, she longed to smell a more familiar scent that used to fragrant her bed linens and skin after a night with Fenris.

  Here was a man that appeared to posses all the qualities and characteristics that she had always thought she wanted in a companion and lover, and though she felt a connection with him, there was something missing- that undefinable, yet integral part that two individuals must possess in order to have real chemistry and to maintain true and lasting love.

  She knew without a doubt that she loved Anders, and probably always would in some fashion, but he wasn’t Fenris. Anders could never fill the hole in her heart that Fenris had left behind.

  The two mages drew apart as Anders ended the kiss. Leaning his forehead against Hawke’s he drew in a shaky breath. “I never had a chance, did I?” Straightening up, he took a step backwards. “It was always the elf, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded. “I’ve never loved anyone more, not even…”

  “Not even me,” Anders said, finishing her sentence. “And what just happened between us, proved it, despite me wishing otherwise.”

  “Why are you so sure now?” she asked puzzled and a little surprised. “You can be that certain just by having kissed me?”

  “A man can tell if the woman he is kissing is truly in love with him. Besides, you never forgot to breathe- not even once.”

  “What? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “When _he_ kisses you, you forget to breathe. The elf only has to _look_ at you in that way of his – and by the way, it is extremely nauseating to watch the two of you get so starry-eyed- and you actually stop breathing.” Anders’ mouth turned up into a wistful smile. “It’s like the rest of the world stops, or disappears for you, and there’s only… him.”

  Hawke sniffed and blinked back the tears that had pooled in her eyes as Anders had been speaking. “I’m sorry, Anders.” She hated having to hurt him all over again. “You’re right- I love him and always will.” The corners of her mouth drew downward, her expression saddening further. “But I’m afraid that doesn’t matter anymore. He’ll never forgive me this time.”

  “Bullshit! Just go back and tell the elf that you made a mistake- that you should have chosen him.”

  “But it wasn’t a mistake, Anders!” she said in a panicked voice. “I won’t give up our friendship.” The thought of not having him in her life terrified her on some level and she didn’t understand why.

  Anders grabbed her forearms and gave her a gentle shake. “Cat, you’re being foolish. You have a chance to be happy with the elf, so go ahead and take it. All I want is for you to be happy, and if that means I have to stay away from you…then so be it.”

  “No! I won’t let you do that…to just walk away from our friendship.”

  Anders’ brows rose in surprise at the vehemence in her voice. “What in Andraste’s name is wrong with you?”  He frowned at her in anger. “You can’t expect me to stay with you if, by doing so, it ruins your life… ruins the future with the father of your soon-to-be born son.” He shook her again, this time harder, when she shook her head at him. “Dammit, Cat- I love you too much to watch you throw everything away for me!”

  “And what if I do as you say and things don’t work out? What if Fenris suddenly wakes up one morning and decides that he can no longer live with an Apostate Mage? Maybe it’s a good thing that we part now…before the inevitable happens. You said yourself it is only a matter of time.”

  Anders threw up his hands in exasperation. “You decide to listen to me _now_?! When you’re almost ready to give birth to his child?” He shook his head in disbelief.

  Hawke turned and walked to the far corner of the room, then wearily seated herself in one of the armchairs in front of the wall of bookcases. She knew Anders must think that she had completely gone mad- and maybe she had. She couldn’t seem to think straight anymore, couldn’t seem to get a grip on her emotions. She looked at Anders as he crouched down in front of her chair after having followed her across the room.

  “You’ve gone through a lot of things- a lot of changes- these past few months and you are just scared,” he said gently. “Maybe it’s time you talked to the elf.”

  “You sound like Carver now.”

  “Well, as much as it pains me to admit that Junior might be right, I think you should take his advice this time.” He reached up and tucked a loose tendril of her hair behind one ear. “I wish you would tell me what’s at the root of all this sudden mistrust of Fenris. He truly loves you, you know.”

  “You called him by his name,” remarked Hawke with a small smile.

  “Don’t get used to it, and if you tell Ser Broody Pants that I was defending him again, I’ll deny every word. You know how much I hate having to defend the blasted elf,” he said, returning her smile.

  “It’ll be our little secret,” replied Hawke. Even if she were to tell Fenris, She doubted that he would believe that Anders would ever be on his side about anything, nor come to his defense with out some ulterior motive. She gave him another smile. “Thank you, Anders. I know when everything is all said and done, in the end you will be there for me.” She frowned, puzzled by the unnamed emotion that shadowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s just… this great faith and trust you seem to have placed in me- it’s a little hard for me to comprehend such loyalty. It’s sometimes hard to believe that, despite all my many shortcomings, you still choose to… _believe_ in me.”

  She took one of his hands, gathering it into hers. “Whatever flaws you may possess, it does not negate the fact that you have a caring heart. You’re a good man, Anders- never forget that.” She studied him further for a moment, then said, “I’ve been told that I have a blind-spot when it comes to you, but I think it’s more that I prefer to overlook your less than favorable traits and focus on the better parts of you.”

  Anders stared up into her face for a moment in silence, his expression somber. Hawke heard the distance ding of her clock as it struck the hour, reminding her that she had spent yet another day parted from Fenris. Anders cocked his head to one side, listening as well, as the final tolling of the clock sounded and then ended.

  “We seemed to have slept straight through the dinner hour. What say we go raid the kitchen?” He grinned up at Hawke, his former dark mood suddenly gone. “I am positively weak from a severe lack of sustenance!” His stomach growled loudly, as if to give further credence to his claim of pending starvation. “See? My poor, empty stomach agrees with me.”

  She gave him a half-hearted smile. “You go ahead,” she replied, declining his offer. “I’m not really hungry.” She gave his hand a small squeeze and then let it go. “Go eat, Anders,” she said, giving him another quick smile. “I can’t have my friend collapsing at my feet from hunger now, can I?”

  Anders stood to his feet. “What happened to me being your _best_ friend?”

  “Let’s just say you need to earn your way back to that position.” She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. “I haven’t completely forgiven you for what you did, Anders.”

  “I know,” he replied softly. “And I am sorry that I hurt you, for that was never my intention. You must believe me, Cat.”

  She wondered if that was completely true. Part of her felt that deep down Anders might still harbor feelings of resentment towards her for how she treated him that night when he- with full expectation that they would become lovers- instead found himself spurned by the very woman who had earlier declared that she loved him. _She_ had not forgiven herself entirely, for her own actions that night, so she couldn’t blame him if he hadn’t fully forgiven her as well.

  Thinking it best not to voice any doubts she might have- for opening old wounds would only complicate things even further- she instead gave him a noncommittal nod of her head. “Go and eat your dinner Anders. I would like to be alone now, if you don’t mind.”

  Anders hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but then turning and walking away with a small sigh, he left her alone in the study.

  Hawke slumped down further into her seat and leaned her head backwards against the chair’s headrest. She knew she needed more sleep, but she was reluctant to give in to her tired body’s demands for rest, for she was afraid that she if she slept, she would certainly dream of him- the man from her past- the only man who had ever made her despise the fact that she had been born a mage.


	30. Chapter 30

Fenris stalked through the entryway of the mansion he inhabited, slamming the heavy door behind him with as much force as he could muster. He winced as the sound reverberated, pounding its way loudly through his head, a painful reminder that he had drunk too much ale last night.

  He gave a cursory look around him as he made his way to the right-side staircase that led to the upper level of the mansion, making sure that nothing was amiss. In all the years he had resided here, there had only been one instance where he had arrived home to find an unwelcome guest. Well, if he did not count the times he had returned and found that damnable spirit-possessed mage, _Anders_ , waiting for him, that is. The first intruder he had thrashed to an inch of his life and, after that, word quickly spread that if one valued one’s life it was better to avoid this particular mansion at all costs. As for the mage…unfortunately he had yet to find a solution that would not put him on Hawke’s shit list.

  Then again, after what transpired between he and Hawke over a week ago, he was probably already on that list- right there at the top. Therefore, theoretically, he could rip the abomination’s heart right out of his chest and not worry that he would sink any lower in Hawke’s esteem. One side of his mouth quirked upwards at the thought, and he took the remaining steps two at a time until he reached the landing at the top.

 Slowing his pace, he reached up over his shoulder to grab the hilt of his sheathed sword. He sucked in his breath with a sharp hiss and grimaced. He pulled the weapon gingerly from its holder and brought it to the forefront, keeping his movements careful and slow. He swore under his breath when he noticed fresh drops of bright crimson blood rolling down his arm and onto the hilt of the sword he held in his hand.

  Relieved of the heavy burden of the somewhat cumbersome weapon, he rolled his neck in a slow circle, trying to relieve some of the tension in his sore muscles. Moving towards the room he used as his main living area, he glanced down at the long blade he held, noting that it would now require a more thorough cleaning before he set out on his next job later that day.

  Entering the middle room, he walked to the rectangular table set to the left of the entrance, and placed his sword upon the scarred, wooden surface, taking care not to upset the half-empty bottle of wine and the pewter goblet that sat nearby. Looking down at his right hand, he noticed the splattered stains of red on his gauntlet. He lifted the arm and gave careful appraisal to the deep slash across his bicep. It would require stiches. Pulling off the bloodstained glove with a small grimace, he set it down beside his weapon. Removing the other one, he placed it beside its twin, and then turned away from the table.

  His green eyes swept the room, his gaze first going to the nearly filled bookcase against the wall, and then moving to the twin wooden benches angled before the hearth. His gaze swept upward to the fireplace’s mantle and then stopped when he spied the small, nondescript box almost hidden behind a tall brass candelabrum. He made his way across the room and returned to the table with the square container in hand.

  Taking a seat at the head of the table, he unlatched the cover of the box, and turned it upside down, emptying the container.  A small, loosely bound roll of white cloth, two makeshift leather pouches and a half-empty vial of liquid tumbled out and landed onto the surface of the table. Tossing the box to one side, he frowned at the meager contents it had contained.

  Opening the smaller of the two pouches, and peering inside, he shook it a little and then frowned again. Casting it aside, he picked up the remaining pouch and then discarded it when he found it to be as empty as the first. Standing up the vial, he set it carefully to one side until he required its use.

  Hawke had always made sure that his “emergency healing kit”, as she had called it, was well stocked should he ever need to tend to an injury when she- or that _mage_ \- were not close by to heal him. Though he hated to admit it, he had become used to not having to rely on his limited medical training when it came to tending to his own injuries. He was well versed in the art of battlefield triage, for it had been a necessary part of life when he had lived among the Fog Warriors in Seheron, and before then, when he lived in Tevinter, there of course had been a ready supply of mages able to treat the sick and injured. Here in Kirkwall, he had always relied on Hawke or Anders for healing; therefore, he had never had reason to use any of the contents in the box. Until now, that is. Recent events had changed _everything_ in his life.

  The muscles in his jaw worked as he clenched down against the dull ache he felt in his chest. He did not know which pain was worse- the one caused by the marauder who had slashed him with his knife, or the one gripping his heart whenever he thought of Hawke and the decision she had made. Deciding to ignore the latter, and fix the former, he stood from his chair and went in search of a needle and a length of strong thread.

  Pulling open the double doors of his wardrobe wide, he perused its interior, looking for the sewing kit that he had last seen sitting atop the shelf. After a moment, he spied the curved edge of the woven basket peaking out behind a loosely folded garment of deep blue. Stepping forward to remove the sewing kit from its hiding place, Fenris reached up to push the material aside, but then curious as to what it was, he hesitated, and then pulled it off the shelf instead. Letting it unfold to hang down before him, the diaphanous material felt soft and silky to his touch as he held it aloft.

  It was one of Hawke’s chemises.

  The ache in his chest grew sharp at the sight of the familiar piece of clothing. He remembered the last time she had worn the garment… how she had looked standing in the moonlight, looking at him with such an expression of wanton desire and longing, that an overpowering need to posses her had filled him to the point that he had ripped her chemise in his passion to claim her once again as his own.

  A faint fragrance clung to the torn garment he held, teasing him with that familiar womanly scent that had never failed to inflame his desire further. Even now, at the memory, after inhaling her scent, his body betrayed his great need for the woman he still loved and wanted.

  With an angry growl at his own weakness, he rent the delicate garment into two pieces and then threw the destroyed chemise to the bottom floor of the wardrobe. Grabbing the woven basket that held the sewing supplies, he stepped back and, ignoring the pain from his wound, slammed first one door shut, and then the other, with an emphatic bang.

  “My, my Fenris… did the wardrobe somehow offend you?”

  He turned at the sound of the sultry voice, and eyed the dark-haired elf. She was clothed in armored leather that protected, and yet flattered, the shapely curves of the petite figure it encased. He met her steady gaze, her eyes the color of deep violet that sparkled with amusement. “Hello, Lilith.”

  Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled at him. “You were making such a racket I wager you never heard me enter this ruin of a place you call home, never mind this room.” She folded her arms across her chest, and arched one dark, tapered eyebrow at him.

  Fenris felt a stab of irritation at failing to hear her approach, and for allowing himself to be caught unawares in such a private moment of emotional turmoil. Walking to the head of the table, he set down the sewing basket and then looked at Lilith as she stood at the opposite end. “What do you want?” The chair legs scraped along the tile floor as he pulled it backwards using his injured arm, and then he dropped into the seat with a pained look.

  Lilith’s smile faded at his grimace of pain. “You’re hurt, Fenris.” Unfolding her arms, she walked around the table to stand by his chair. “Let me see your arm,” she demanded. She leaned over him to get a better view of his injury. “You’re going to need stiches,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

  The light scent of sun-kissed heather surrounded Fenris and his gaze drifted to valley between her breasts as she leaned closer to him. His groin tightened in reaction to his male appreciation to her womanly curves. His body reminded him that it had been much too long since he had bedded a woman; his mind pointed out that it had been by his choice. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and pulled his head backwards to a safer distance.

  Finished with her examination of his wound, Lilith straightened up and then stood looking down at Fenris. “I can understand you not wanting to go see that Healer in Darktown, but why didn’t you just go see her and ask her to heal your arm?”

  “You know why,” he replied in a tight voice. He would be damned if he asked that woman for _anything_ ever again, not after what she had done. The muscles in his cheek flexed. He was not about to give Hawke one glimmer of hope that he would soon forgive such a betrayal of his love and trust.

  “Some women never seem to appreciate a good man,” Lilith stated. She gave him a quick, dimpled smile, her gaze warming as she looked him over. “I, of course, am not such a woman. I am _very_ good at showing my… appreciation.”

  Fenris appraised Lilith, taking note of her blatant interest in him. She, like him, worked for Athenril, on occasion as a mercenary, and they had gone out on jobs together quite often in the past. Lilith was one of the few people in Kirkwall that he trusted to have his back should things turn lethal, and she had never tried to take more than her fair share of the cut. She was one of the few, rare individuals that he called a friend.

  He stared back at her, his expression cautious as he considered the idea of making their relationship more…personal at some point. The idea of making love to a woman that was not Hawke was foreign to him, and he actually felt extreme guilt at even entertaining such a thought. He scowled at his feelings of self-reproach, but quickly assumed a more passive expression when he heard Lilith’s soft, throaty laughter.

  “You look as if you’ve just been caught stealing alms from a blind, one-armed beggar,” Lilith said, amused. She leaned over him again, bringing her lips close to his ear and then whispered, “Never feel guilty for going after what you desire, Fenris. I never do.”

  He clamped down on the unwanted rush of desire he felt when she nuzzled her nose against his sensitive ear. Feeling as if a hot iron had just branded his skin, he jerked his body away, jarring his injured arm. He let out a quick hiss of pain and shot Lilith a dark look when she stood upright, and then moved away from his chair with another throaty laugh.

  “I am so pleased that I can amuse you,” he growled at Lilith. He lifted his injured arm, moving it forward to rest his elbow on the surface of the table. “Make yourself useful and fetch me a bottle of whiskey from that cupboard in the corner,” Fenris ordered testily. His wound pained him more at each moments passing, and he was dead tired and still fighting the lingering results of too much drink. Unless he got a few hours of sleep, he feared on his next job he would not be able to perform his duty to his employer in his usual proficient manner.

  He was reaching for the needle and black thread when Lilith returned with the bottle of whiskey. She set it down before him, and then took a seat at the side of the table. Fenris grunted his thanks. Taking the bottle, he uncorked it and poured a small portion of the alcohol onto the needle, sterilizing it.

  “You should wash that wound out with soap and water before stitching it closed, Fenris,” Lilith suggested.

  “The whiskey will be enough.”  Steeling himself against the coming pain, he lifted the bottle and poured a liberal amount of the whiskey over the deep slash in his upper arm. He muttered a Tevinter curse beneath his breath when the alcohol burned a path into the deepest part of the wound. He wished the damned marauder was alive, and standing here before him, just so he could kill him all over again in repayment for all the trouble he had caused him this day.

  He felt Lilith’s eyes on him. He glanced over at the female elf. “What?” he asked, with a sigh. He started to set the whiskey back down on the table, hesitated a moment, and then lifted the bottle to his lips. Tilting his head back, he drank from the bottle, gulping down several mouthfuls in quick succession. Setting the bottle back down, he wiped his mouth dry with the back of his hand.

  “I still think you should have one of the Circle mages heal that wound.”

  “No.” The word was emphatic, his tone colder than ice. “The wound will heal fine on its own- without the use of magic.” If he never found himself in the company of a mage again, it would be too soon. He would have to be at death’s door before he would even _consider_ getting help from any mage. He took the needle and attempted to thread its eye with one end of the black thread.

  “Has anyone told you that you are one stubborn elf?”  She sighed and then reaching over to him across one corner of the table, she grabbed the needle and thread from him. “Here, let me do that before you bleed to death.”

  Fenris’s annoyed frown was short-lived when he realized that his wound had indeed started to bleed again. He could not afford to become weakened by loss of blood- it would put him at a serious disadvantage should he come up against any opposition on his next engagement he had later today.

  He noticed that Lilith had already finished threading the needle, and reaching out for it, he gave her a quick half-smile of gratitude. She shook her head and pulled her hand away from his reach.

  “Oh, just let me handle this, Fenris. I’ve seen some of the results of your handiwork- you’d make a poor tailor.” She stood to her feet and gave him a look of expectation. “Well? Stop frowning at me and give me your arm already.”

  Fenris raised a brow at her but did as she commanded. He was too tired and in too much pain to argue. Besides, she was a little handier with a needle than he was, and her stitches always looked neater.

  He tried to remain quiet and unmoving as she stitched his wound close, but more than a few swears slipped from his lips when she put the needle through the meatier part of his flesh. Beads of sweat stood out across his forehead by the time Lilith had finished the last stitch and tied off the end of the thread. He let out a long sigh of relief that stirred the ends of his long bangs.

  “Thank you, Lilith,” Fenris said after he had examined her handiwork. She had done a good job, and though he would have a scar once the wound fully healed, he did not think it would be too noticeable.

  “Those markings of yours will probably hide whatever scar remains,” Lilith remarked, as if reading his thoughts. She gave him a playful smile. “Not that I mind a few scars, mind you… they can be rather sexy on the right person.”

  Fenris gave her a slow smile, responding to her flirtatious nature. “Oh? You find scars sexy?” His eyes skimmed lightly across the features of her lovely face, dipping for a moment to her pink, full lips, then back up again to meet her eyes.

  “I find a lot of things sexy: Scars…tattoos… dangerous, lanky elves with a penchant for brooding.” Lilith gave him a rather lusty grin.

  Fenris smiled again, and then replied, “Good to know.” An image of a pregnant Hawke filled his mind, clouding his emotions, and his smile disappeared.

  “Really, Fenris,” Lilith said laughing, “How you can even feel guilty for just _thinking_ something, is beyond me. Why don’t you save up all those pesky, useless feelings of guilt for a time when you actually _do_ something worthy of such guilt?”

  “That’s always been my motto,” Anders said as he entered the room. “But then, I’ve never gotten a woman pregnant, abandoned her, and then moved on to greener pastures, so to speak.” He eyed the two elves. “In that case, a little guilt would seem almost appropriate, don’t you think?”

  Fenris snarled and rose up from is seat, but found he was unable to move any higher when Lilith clamped a hand down hard on his shoulder. She kept applying pressure downward until he gave up and reseated himself.

  “Mind your injury, Fenris,” she cautioned softly. “We have a job to do later, remember?” She gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, and then turned to look at the mage, eyeing him with some interest.

 Anders moved to the end of the table, and then stopped, directing his words to Fenris. “We need to talk.” His gaze flickered to Lilith, then back to Fenris. “I’m sure your,” he paused slightly, raising one brow, “ _friend_ won’t mind if we talk alone.”

  “Aye, ‘friend’ is an accurate enough term- for now,” Lilith replied with laughter in her voice. She looked Anders over. “Wait- you wouldn’t happen to be the one all the lovelies over at the Blooming Rose have been talking about? The mage that does that erotic thing with the electricity…” Her eyes widened at Anders expression. “It _is_ you!” She gave a throaty laugh in delight, and then glanced sideways at Fenris. “Well, that _almost_ explains why she left you for him.”

  Fenris bristled at Lilith’s teasing, and then muttered an unflattering expletive under his breath. She laughed, and after giving him another friendly squeeze on his shoulder, she leaned over and gave him a quick peck on his cheek.

  “Well, I’m off. I have a few things that need to be taken care of before we set out tonight.” She straightened and removed her hand from his shoulder. “I’ll meet up with you at the usual spot.” Turning from Fenris, she walked away, her hips gently swaying as she crossed the room.

  Anders and Fenris watched her depart. Lilith passed by Anders so close, her right hand brushed against his coat. She glanced sideways at him as she passed, giving him a dimpled grin and a wink. Anders turned around to continue watching the dark-haired elf walk away until she exited the room and passed out of sight. Turning back around, he looked at Fenris and raised both eyebrows.

  “You have no idea what you are getting yourself into, do you?” Anders shook his head. “I’ve seen her type before and that one will cause you nothing but trouble.”

  To Fenris, the notion that any woman would be as troublesome as Hawke was laughable. He gave the mage a derisory snort. He was in love with _the_ most troublesome woman-most troublesome mage- ever to be born into this world. He doubted Lilith would ever come close to causing him as much trouble as Hawke did on a daily basis.

  “What do you want, mage?” Fenris eyed Anders with unconcealed rancor. “You are not welcome here.”

  Anders gave a careless shrug of his shoulders. “I’m an Apostate, in case you’ve forgotten. There’s not too many places where I _am_ welcomed these days.” He pulled out one of the chairs at the opposite end of the table and then seated himself. “I told you why I’m here- to talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you, mage.”

  “Fine, then you won’t be interrupting me while I’m speaking then,” Anders replied. He stared at Fenris for a moment in silence, his expression serious.

  Fenris stared back at him, noting with some satisfaction that the mage had an air of wariness about him, as if he was not too sure of his own safety.

  “Do you know who Barit is?” Anders asked, abruptly breaking the uneasy silence between them. “No of course you don’t,” he muttered, not waiting for an answer. “If Cat hasn’t told me, she certainly hasn’t told _you_ about him.”

  Fenris bristled inwardly at what Anders was inferring, but managed to keep his outward appearance from showing his sincere desire to throttle the mage. It stung, for the sad truth of the matter was that Hawke probably would confide in Anders first… because she trusted the mage more.

  Putting aside that uncomfortable and undeniable truth, Fenris studied the man at the end of the table much in the same way a predator might examine an opponent that had crossed into its territory.

  “Listen, elf. I’m worried about her… she’s…” Anders frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and looked away from Fenris to stare out the far window. The fingers of his left hand drummed out an erratic pattern against the tabletop as the features of his face took on a worried expression.

  Frustrated, Fenris leaned further forwarded on his seat, his body now tense as a newly strung bow. “Finish your words, Anders, or I swear, you will next find my hands about your throat and I will wring the words from you.”

  Anders gave him a thin smile. “Well perhaps you still have feelings for Cat after all, elf.” The smile left and his expression sobered. “If I knew exactly what was going on inside of her, I would tell you. She barely sleeps or eats anymore. She is slowly losing herself to…” His voice trailed off with a troubled sigh, his shoulders slumping downwards. After a tense pause, Anders continued on, his voice low and strained with worry. “She won’t tell me what’s wrong and I don’t know what else to do to help her.”

  “And so you have come to me… to have me do what, exactly?”

  The look Anders fixed upon him had Fenris feeling slightly daft for asking the question. What did the mage expect him to do? Hawke had made it abundantly clear whom her priority in the relationship was- Anders- so let him deal with whatever was wrong with her.

  “I always knew you were a bastard, but I never pegged you for a complete and utter unfeeling bastard,” Anders said with more than a little rancor. “I’ve warned Cat right from the beginning that you were not right for her, but for some unfathomable reason she is most happy when she is with _you_. She actually loves you; despite how wrong you are for her, and despite how many times you have turned your back on her.” Anders lips curled upwards, almost as if he had caught the scent of something particularly unpleasant.

  “I have _never_ turned my back on Hawke. _I_ am not the one that has constantly embroiled her in schemes and foolish endeavors that have not only put her life at risk, but have also put her in direct conflict with just about every templar in Kirkwall.” The cold, inimical gaze he imparted to Anders would have sent most men fleeing from the room in fear for their lives.

  Anders mouth turned upwards in a sarcastic smile. “You really don’t understand Cat at all, do you? Just because you may have shared her bed, doesn’t mean you actually _know_ the woman. If you truly knew Cat, you would realize how utmost important it is for her to fight for the rights of all mages- be they Circle or Apostate.” Anders leaned back in his chair; the hint of an amused, but cold, smile played across his face. “Besides, you above all people know that no one can make Hawke do anything that she doesn’t want to- no matter the ultimatum.”

  Fenris almost flinched as Anders’ barb hit home, but he carefully schooled his face into an expressionless mask.

  “I need you to know something,” Anders suddenly said, breaking the tense silence between them. “When Hawke told me what had happened between the two of you, I tried to talk her out of her decision.”

  Fenris raised one of his dark brows but remained silent.

  “Don’t get me wrong- part of me was delighted that there was a chance of getting you out of her life- but I am not so self absorbed that I couldn’t see how much it had devastated her to make that choice.” Anders frowned at the memory. His gaze dropped to the floor at his feet and he spoke softly, almost as if speaking to himself, “For some reason she is unable to let our friendship go… is afraid to let it go.”

  “Why?”

  His head jerked up as if startled, and he stared at the elf for a long moment. “Well, if I knew the answer to that I certainly wouldn’t be here talking to you now, would I?” His gaze grew thoughtful again. “But it must have something to do with that man she and Carver argued about… the one they called Barit.”

  _Barit_. Fenris somehow knew Anders presumption was correct. But who was this man? And what connection did he have with Hawke and her present state of mind? It both puzzled and worried him that this man might have something to do with the unraveling of his and Hawke’s relationship. Nothing made sense.

  Anders rose from his seat and adjusted his clothes. He gathered his staff and turned to leave, but stopped when Fenris spoke to him.

  “What makes you so positive I make Hawke happy?” He asked the question almost grudgingly. “Why do you now readily accept that she does indeed love me?”

  Anders studied Fenris for a moment. “Tell me… you can tell by the way a woman kisses you if she is _really_ in love with you or not, right?”

 “Of course,” Fenris responded, slightly exasperated that the mage would not just answer his question. His eyes narrowed at Anders when the mage turned and then sauntered away, and he wondered if he had even intended to answer his bloody question. Fenris started after the mage with growing irritation when Anders, reaching the doorway, suddenly looked back over his shoulder at him, his mouth quirked into a lopsided grin.

  “Well, so can I.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
